


Strange-Eyed Constellation

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, Erotica, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Romance, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-16
Updated: 2007-07-29
Packaged: 2018-10-26 15:44:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 54,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10789680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: War can make strange bedfellows; peacetime allows kindred spirits to join together. Seamus discovers both, and in being true to the baffling desires of his heart, believes that love needn't come exclusively in pairs. Past Fred/Seamus, Seamus/Dean, eventual Fred/Seamus/Dean.





	1. Prologues and Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: My thanks to Auntee Mame for the written beta; exceeding gratitude to Wolfiekins and Callumjames for letting me read aloud and giving me insightful feedback while I write this; also for their enthusiasm over what's certainly a rare trio. The title comes from Thomas Hardy's poem "Drummer Hodge."  


* * *

**Prologue 1: The Test of the Heart is Trouble**

The first time Seamus heard Fred's jingle on the Wireless about Wheezes' Grand Reopening, he gaped disbelievingly at the radio before shutting it off with a savage snap of his wand.

"Oy! I was listening to that match, y'know!" Dean bellowed, but Seamus had stomped off to another room, muttering about bloody thankless Weasleys and ginger-haired blokes whose bollocks should've been hexed off.

"Seamus?!"

"Turn the bloody thing back on yerself!" Seamus yelled back, nearly ruining the fag he jerked out of its packet and set to his lips. He'd taken two satisfyingly bitterhot inhales when he heard the Ballycastle/Green Knights match emanating again from the living room.

Fred was going to reopen his shop, alone. Fred'd not even had the fucking decency to owl him and let him know he'd been working on it, though Seamus had assumed that was what he'd been up to. Malcontent borne of righteous fury burned in Seamus. He had the wicked hope that Fred would have night after night of his vivid nightmares and awake from them — alone — crying out for George, and then hoping for the comfort of the one who'd cared for him more deeply than a brother: Seamus.

He wouldn't be there, either.

Fred had ditched him after the War, saying it would be for the best, that they should move on, forget the chilling atrocities they'd endured and inflicted. To Seamus' mind and heart, it had been a vivisection, brutal and traumatic. He'd never given so much of himself to somebody else like that, especially someone he admired that much. Never before had he comforted another bloke that intensely, caring for Fred through the long days and longer nights after George had been killed.

And now… He lit a second fag from the first, flicking the first one off their balcony. Breathing deeply, he exhaled a stream of smoke through his nostrils, willing himself not to think of playful lips, an obscene tongue in his ear promising filthy passions to come…

"Get a fucking grip," Seamus grumbled angrily at himself. "Obviously he doesn't miss you. You deserve better than that spotty-arsed prick. You were used, Finnigan. Get on with it."

He'd been so caught up in his mumbled tirade that he jumped when he heard Dean's voice behind him.

"If you want to go to the opening, I'll go with you. Moral support and all that," Dean offered with an apologetic smile.

"Ah, you're me best mate. Ta," Seamus said warmly, turning around and toeing at Dean's trainers so he'd know how close he was. "Ale?"

"I reckon."

As Dean settled awkwardly into a chair, Seamus _Accio_ 'ed two bottles from their cold box. At times like this he really wished Dean, too, was bent— instead, he was merely blind, and a decorated War hero, as many of them were. Dean tried to understand Seamus' attraction to blokes, his lust for cocks and arses and chests that fit so taut and flat against his own. Dean tried _too_ hard, though Seamus adored him for it.

"So, what do you say?" Dean persisted, crossing a lean, tracksuit-clad leg across his knee, his fingers grasping around the ale once Seamus placed it in his hand.

"Not going," Seamus growled, though his anger was reverting to a deeply rooted, self-pitying resentment. Dean was the only person who knew just how close he and Fred had become during those months at the end of the War, and Seamus' pride insisted it stay that way. "I'm sure the arsehole's not shed any tears over me. He can have his bloody reopening and picture on the front of the bloody Prophet by his bloody self."

They drank in silence for a few moments until Dean gazed in Seamus' direction, his unseeing, pearlescent eyes roving slightly in their sockets. "Can I bum a fag?"

"'Course. Sorry."

Dean nestled the cigarette between his full lips, closing his eyes as Seamus cast an _Incendio_. Seamus felt guilty, sometimes, at his unhindered ability to ogle his best friend, especially since Dean only fancied birds. He had no worries about Seamus' orientation, even calling out from time to time that he knew Seamus was perving on his arse and to stop it. Seamus invariably retorted that Dean only wished that was the case. In truth, Seamus had long ago surrendered to his unhealthy lust of Dean's indecently erotic, slender fingers. Not that it mattered, of course.

"Do you think he'll come around?" Dean asked, his expression earnest.

Scorching anger flashed in Seamus' chest, and he wanted to punch something. Futility washed over him seconds later, however, and he polished off his ale instead. He'd asked Dean to perform enough healing spells on his hand as it was.

"No. He's not said a word about us being together, not fucking once," Seamus said moodily, before _Accio_ 'ing another two ales. "Better off not being around someone who can put on that much of an act. Me, me fucking heart's always been on me sleeve."

"I know. Even _I_ can see it," Dean chuckled, and Seamus couldn't stop laughing weakly in response. "You know that you deserve better." He raised his elbow to establish the height of the railing before tossing his cigarette over the side.

"'Course I do. He just, well, he was just so…" Seamus' voice trailed off. It didn't matter how Fred had seemed to crave him, needed him, told him again and again how he'd've gone totally batshite without Seamus, without their nearly ruthless snogging and desperately passionate shags. He'd lied through his teeth, or for whatever reason he didn't want people to know about them, or maybe he'd simply taken advantage of Seamus and discarded him once things were back to a fucked-up imitation of normal. Ultimately Seamus had decided it didn't matter; Fred was treating him like shite, and Seamus was ignoring him in turn. But during those few months, things had been euphorically different.

"Like a mortise and tenon," Seamus said finally, shrugging even though he knew Dean wouldn't see it. "We fit together. Was bloody brilliant, no matter this tripe he's pulling now."

"Like a what?" Dean said, looking confused, scissoring his second and third fingers as he nonverbally requested another cigarette.

"Mortise and tenon. Seamless slot and groove joint. Ye make 'em doing old school carpentry. Did a bit 'o that in summers with me cousin Anson. The things slide right in, no nails or anything. We were like that."

"Too much information," Dean said with a mock shudder, before he took a drag.

"Not like that, ye pervy bastard." Seamus clocked Dean lightly on the knee.

Except that they _had_ fit together memorably well that way. Maybe Fred still wanked and thought about him, about Seamus kneeling between his knees, Seamus' tongue sliding feverishly around his narrow cock. More than that, though, Seamus had held him together. He'd lost his mam a few months prior; he knew the acrid flavour of loss, knew that no amount of firewhiskey or even shared saliva in a hot mouth could dull its presence.

"There are some things you just can't joke about. We understood that."

Seamus leaned back in his chair, resting on the back two legs, arms on the railing. He looked up at the raspberry sky, thought of the snatched moments of peace they'd had out on patrol, the commitments and pledges he'd made, willingly.

Fred Xavier Weasley couldn't even be arsed to owl him. About anything. Even to meet up for a couple of pints, like you would with a friend. No; the War was over, and Seamus evidently too awkward or too painful to keep on with, even for a casual fuck. Seamus rolled that sourness around his palate before opening his mouth to breathe in the heated air, which couldn't dampen the taste.

"No matter what you're thinking, I reckon he'll notice if you're not there," Dean said, apparently trying to instill some macabre hope in him. "I sure as hell don't know what I'd do without you."

Seamus gnawed on his bottom lip for a bit, the finality of it all bruising him with something that felt a lot like betrayal.

"Some people never really know what they're missing."

**..:~:..**

**Prologue 2: Snow**

"What do you mean it's snowing? You're bloody having me on! It's April!" Dean growled, but Seamus wouldn't be deterred.

"Yes, it's snowing. Come outside, you berk, if you don't believe me. Come _on_ ," Seamus insisted, pulling Dean up from the couch where he'd been lying down, listening to some obscure wizarding audio book about werewolves in Scotland.

"I was comfortable, y'know," Dean muttered, shaking Seamus off. "And I know where the door is. I can get around without your help."

"I know. Git," Seamus said with a smile as Dean navigated their furniture flawlessly, though he did keep one hand out in front of him.

They went out onto the small porch where the uncharacteristically cold and quiet air dampened the usual hubub of a London Friday night. Dean paused where he stood, his sightless eyes looking left and right while Seamus just stared upward into the night, blinking when the flakes fell onto his face. He stuck out his tongue, catching what flakes fell on it before they melted.

Dean had shoved his hands into his pockets, but upturned his face, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths through his nose. "Bloody hell," he said under his breath. "It's not supposed to snow this time of year."

The night was muffled in a hushed way only made possible by snow, encouraging Seamus' chatty nature to be quiet as well. He was enraptured by the swirls and mini whorled patterns made when the slight breeze danced in the airy dusting, and he wished he had the kind of eloquence to describe it to Dean, even though he could probably envision it in his mind's eye well enough. It seemed natural to be almost motionless, simply watching the unexpected return of winter.

"There's not that much, is there?" Dean asked quietly, pulling a hand from his pocket to hold it out, evidently wanting to feel the faint snowy caress.

"No. It's beautiful, though." Seamus made a slight scuffling with his feet, letting Dean know he'd moved away to the edge of the railing. "Doubt it'll stick, but it's right gorgeous, falling pretty steadily. Really small flakes," he added, trying to add a bit of visual for his best friend.

"Mmmmm."

Dean took a hand and rubbed at the little bit that had clung to his forehead and eyebrows, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Pretty odd."

"Yeah."

Seamus shivered, thrusting his hands up into his armpits, but unwilling to go back inside just yet.

"Are you supposed to make a wish or anything with something like this? Like a shooting star?" Dean asked, turning to face Seamus.

Seamus gave him a look of disdain and rolled his eyes, even though he knew Dean couldn't see it. "No. But the next one I do see, I'll give you my wish. I already have mine."

Dean's brows furrowed. "I find that hard to believe. Fred's still being an arse. You're not getting any, though I'm sure you could if you wanted."

Seamus made a rude noise. "Could if I wanted, sure. Thanks for that." He walked past Dean, heading back inside their flat. Dean followed with a last deep inhale and exhale, his breath hovering visibly for a few seconds until it vanished into the chill. "I'd always wished for happiness, to be around someone who actually wanted to be with me. I mean, I'm quite a catch, but things haven't always worked out," he said pragmatically, though the bruising on his heart from his unexpectedly short, but torrid time with Fred was still quite raw. "You put up with me."

Dean's lips quirked to the side as he made his way into the kitchen, heading for the pantry with the teas and coffee. "Yes, I do. Ought to be sainted, I suppose."

Seamus snorted as he closed the door, feeling oddly at peace despite the strange weather and his definite solo romantic status. "Yeah. Saint Thomas. 'Fraid that title's already been taken." He put on the kettle, finding some ancient hot chocolate while Dean sniffed at a few of the tea bags until he found an herbal raspberry one and placed it on the counter. "Still, we've a good life, you and me."

"Only you could get heartbroken and become a sentimental poof," Dean said with a wide smile, edging backward in anticipation of a friendly clocking Seamus was only too happy to provide.

**..:~:..** ****

Strange-Eyed Constellation

Seamus muttered short bursts of invective-ridden phrases about his bollocky evening as he walked down the footpath. Normally he loved his job as a bartender at The Dove's Cry, but tonight had been one disaster after another, including, but not limited to: nearly breaking his ankle tripping over a customer's chair; knocking over a bottle of 200 year old Irish firewhiskey, and his regulars inexplicably being in cheesed off moods. Since eight o'clock or so he'd felt out of sorts and trying to suppress a relentless feeling of foreboding. If he'd not been dealing with near-catastrophes, he would have firecalled Dean just to hear a friendly voice, but there'd been no bloody time. It was a Tuesday, as well— not usually such a busy night.

"Snap out of it," he admonished inwardly, letting himself into the flat block where he and Dean had been sharing a place for the better part of a year. "Dean doesn't deserve your shite." He climbed up the stairs to their door, struck at how quiet it seemed. They tended to keep a low-grade silencing spell on all the time, but Dean usually had the Wireless on, or music, even this late at night, unless he was doing his hand-reading. Dean had learned Braille, the Muggle way blind people read, although he preferred to listen to dictated books. With his expressive voice, Dean had begun working a few hours a week recording wizarding novels for others in his situation, and seemed to enjoy it quite a bit.

Seamus took a healthy swig of firewhiskey from his flask before he shut and locked the door. Their flat was silent, eerily so, in a way that had nothing to do with the early hour of the morning. He didn't want to wake Dean up, but something was off. The hairs on Seamus' arms prickled uncomfortably as he treaded lightly through the living room. Glancing down the corridor to their rooms, he saw that the bathroom door at the end of the way was closed, implying Dean's occupancy. Relief flooded through him as he let out a breath he'd just realised he'd been holding.

"Dean! I'm home!" he yelled, clomping over to his room and taking another swig from his flask. When there was no answer, he hung in the doorway, one shoe toed off. "Dean?"

Panic buzzed in him like angry moths. He tossed his flask on the bed and rushed to the bathroom door, knocking loudly.

"Dean? You okay?"

After a few precious seconds of silence fluttered by, he threw open the door, privacy be damned. He flicked on the light, taking in a sharp breath as the debacle was suddenly illuminated. The shower curtain rod and red plaid curtain had been pulled to the floor, making a sideways halo of wet vinyl. Dean lay sprawled on his back in the tub, his head lolling against the porcelain, an arm curled up at an awkward angle against his chest.

"FUCK!" Seamus shouted, his mind racing as he frantically fell to his knees, shoving the shower curtain out of the way. Dean was breathing — thank Merlin — and he didn't seem to be bleeding, but he was definitely unconscious.

"Shite, Dean, what'd you do?" Seamus murmured as he carefully, with trembling fingers, eased a hand under his head. A quick glance over the rest of Dean's long limbs seemed to reveal only bruises, though he'd certainly be quite sore until he had a healing draught. Seamus tried not to think about the fact that while he'd been longing to see Dean naked for some time, this was certainly not the manner in which he'd wanted it to happen. The discovery of a palm-sized bump on the back of Dean's skull confirmed Seamus' guess as to what happened. He babbled quiet, soothing reassurances to Dean's unresponsive form. Dean had doubtless finished his shower and then slipped on something, grabbing at anything he could as he fell, cracking his head against the wall as he did. Dean usually took his showers at night, but even so, that meant he'd been unconscious for several hours now. Anxiety ricocheted through Seamus, frustrating him as he tried to revert to his war survival mode, calming his blaring thoughts.

"I need to get you to St. Mungo's, okay?" he said softly, tracing a gentle path across Dean's forehead before enacting his plan. It wasn't advanced Arithmancy to get someone to hospital, but given Dean's size versus his own, there were slightly more complicated logistics to be coordinated. Within minutes he'd draped a bathrobe on Dean and cast a modified _Mobilicorpus_ that would protect his head and neck from any further movement. Drawing on the adrenaline zinging along his hyper-aware body, Seamus focussed on the one secure Apparition point in the hospital and side-along Apparated them both there.

Seconds after their arrival, two Junior Healers appeared. One carefully put Dean on a stretcher while the other, an olive-skinned witch, cast a perfunctory auralic on Dean and then rattled off a staccatoed barrage of questions which Seamus answered as quickly as he could. Once Dean had been placed in a room on a proper bed and Seamus had been assured that a Senior Healer would show up momentarily, the young witch looked sharply at him.

"You're…" she asked, tilting her head and reminding Seamus of a wary bird, protecting its nest.

"His roommate. We're best mates," he explained, a bit surprised at the defiance in his own voice. He found that he was moving toward the bed to defend his right to be there when the towering presence of Ron Weasley appeared in the doorway.

"Seamus! What's happened?" he asked brusquely, striding to Dean's beside and casting a quick but elaborate auralic.

"Don't really know," Seamus replied, flanking Dean on the other side of the bedrail. He listened as Ron and the junior Healer exchanged a few comments. Seamus understood some of it — everybody who'd fought in the War had learned more about healing than they'd ever initially intended.

"Thanks, Hyacinth." Ron's voice was rather gravelly as though he'd been recently woken up. Given the hour of morning, Seamus recognised that may well have been the case.

After the junior Healer had been dismissed, Seamus told Ron what little he knew before blurting out, "Don't you think he's just got a concussion or something?"

Ron nodded his agreement, tracing slow circles with his wand several inches above Dean's head. "I should probably go ahead an Ennervate him, as his magic isn't damaged at all. And not his brain, either," he reassured Seamus. Ron's usual lopsided smile eased on to his lips.

"That's a relief," Seamus sighed. He forced his hands on the bedrail so that he didn't embarrass himself by smoothing Dean's forehead, though his fingers itched to betray him and do just that.

"You doing okay?" Ron asked, his own posture relaxing now that it was apparent Dean hadn't injured himself too seriously.

"Yeah. Busy." He looked down at Dean, still discomfited at not being able to talk with him. Ron was an excellent Healer, though, and Seamus opted not to rush him. "You? And Harry?"

"Great." Ron's recalcitrant smile widened nearly to breaking at the mention of his bondmate. "Busy as hell. But in a good way."

"Glad to hear." Seamus twisted the metal bar, hoping Ron would hurry up and cast the spell to bring Dean back to consciousness.

"He's going to be okay," Ron said, his voice soothing and professional in a way Seamus hadn't heard before. He glanced up, meeting the calm in Ron's blue eyes. Ron poised his wand at the top of Dean's chest. Dean's collarbones and arms were exposed above the pulled up sheet. "Not to pry," he went on, "but are you two…" he asked provocatively, one thin eyebrow raised.

"What? Together? No," Seamus said, his small shrug meant to mask the remainder of his unspoken reply of _"But it's about to make me batshite that we're not."_

"Okay. Just curious." Unexpectedly, Ron's smile became impish. "Best friends, y'know— sometimes we don't see what's right in front of us."

"I'll let ye know if anything changes," Seamus said with a wink, forcing levity into his tone and easing away from the bed. "But Dean's more of a ladies man."

"You must do a lot for him," Ron said thoughtfully, rubbing at the coppery stubble on his upper jaw. "He's not in bad spirits, is he? Some people who've suffered physical trauma like he did with permanent scarring don't cope all that well."

Seamus' patience was fraying at an accelerated pace and he caught himself twisting the large leather band he always wore on his wrist. "If ye'll wake him, you can ask him yerself," he said pointedly.

"Good point. _Rennervate_."

A low groan escaped Dean's mouth as his eyes made two quick passes underneath his taut eyelids. His eyes snapped open, his arms flailing out and whacking into the metal rails.

"Shit! Seamus!" he called out, fear and panic in his voice, reflected in his jumpy limbs.

"It's okay!" Seamus cried, clutching at Dean's arms while Ron _Accio_ 'ed two bottles from a cart his assistant had placed just inside the door. "You're in hospital. I'm here, it's okay, you're okay." He had practically climbed in the bed in his effort to calm Dean's wild-flinging arms, letting Dean know where he was, and where Seamus' body was in relation to Dean.

"'Course I am. I fell, that's all. Bloody hell," Dean moaned, taking a hand to rub at the base of his skull. "Why'd you have to make such a big deal about it? Could've just…" his voice trailed off, his sightless eyes focussed on Ron as he readied the two potions. "Who're you?"

"Ron. You know me, oooof!" Ron huffed as Dean suddenly hit him in the gut, establishing where he was. "Seamus did the right thing. You've got a concussion. Take it easy."

"What time is— Merlin, how long was I out? Did you leave work early?" Dean asked, tilting his head before his eyes scrunched up with pain. "Ow."

"Here. I've a calming draught and a pain potion with a sleeping agent to it," Ron said. "I'd like you to drink these." He brought a phial to Dean's lips and he started to tilt it into his mouth. Once Dean could grasp the glass himself, he swallowed both potions in turn. "It's a good idea for you to rest and let your mind stay quiet for a while. You hit your head pretty hard, from the looks of things."

Dean nodded, resting his head back against his pillow. "Which wing am I in?"

Ron told him the floor and room while Seamus pulled a chair up next to Dean's bedside. Dean turned his head at the noise.

"What're you doing?" he asked, stifling a yawn. "You can do your grand inquisition later. I'm fine, honestly. And thanks." The irritation seemed to have leeched from him as Dean smiled ruefully at Seamus before turning back to face Ron again. "Thanks to you, too. You 'n Harry are okay?"

The radiance in Ron's expression was enough to make Seamus nauseous.

"Never better. We should have you over. It's ridiculous that it's taken you almost cracking open your skull for me to see you," Ron said, resting his wide hand on Dean's shoulder. "I'll be around tomorrow afternoon to do a final auralic and the paperwork for your discharge."

Though Dean couldn't see it, of course, Ron's evaluating gaze went from Dean to rest on Seamus. Ron's raised eyebrows and slight tilt of his head spoke volumes into the quiet room as Dean's breathing deepened. While Seamus didn't mind Ron poking about too much in his affairs, he had no desire for what he decidedly _didn't_ have with Dean, or anyone, for that matter, to be fodder for Ron and Harry. Not that Seamus begrudged them their happiness. After the abrupt and painful end to his relationship with Fred, however, and the wearing on him of now living with the man he at long last recognised that he loved in ways far beyond what Dean could ever know, he just wanted to be left alone.

"See you then," Seamus said with a curt nod, focussing his attentions back to Dean. He straightened the blanket where it'd been pulled out by Dean's forceful awakening.

Ron left the room, closing the door behind him.

"Sorry you had to find me like you did," Dean murmured, shifting slightly to his side so he was turned more toward Seamus. "That couldn't have been a pretty sight."

Seamus wasn't about to contradict him, though he suspected the vision of Dean, naked and vulnerable, would haunt his mind's eye and his wanking for months to come. "Ach, I've seen uglier."

Dean snorted softly, reaching to hold Seamus' hand up against his ribs. "I can always _Obliviate_ you later, like a good mate."

"No need for that, you bloody badgerarse. Get some rest."

Dean's long, elegant fingers tapped a couple of times on Seamus' hands before he let him loose. "Yes, mum."

Seamus reluctantly sat back in his chair as he watched Dean slide inexorably into sleep. Eventually he engorged the lime green institutional chair into something he could curl up into, and closed his eyes until he, too, fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

  
"Shay!" Dean's voice sounded faintly from inside the flat. "D'you mind rubbing at my upper back? I still feel as though I've been attacked by Bludgers."

"No worries," Seamus called from the porch where he was watering the fledgling Emmalexis shrubs Neville had given them a while back. The black thumb he'd thought he'd had from his Hogwarts days seemed to have transformed, and the waxy, aubergine leaves twisted happily as he threaded his fingers through the plant.

He deposited the watering can in the kitchen and glanced into the living room, but Dean wasn't there. Wandering into the corridor, he did a doubletake when he saw that Dean was sitting on his own bed, one of his Braille books in his lap.

"Did ye get lost?" Seamus joked, walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed. It took tremendous self-control on Seamus' part to force down his desire to sprawl out on top of him. Dean sat contentedly against Seamus' riot of pillows wearing nothing but long shorts. They'd been in a days-long hot spell, and neither of them cared much for Muggle air conditioning. Spending as much time as he did around Dean in myriad stages of undress was both fueling and abusing his libido, especially since Dean's accident a few days prior.

"No. Your pillows are softer," Dean said petulantly. "Sit behind me, will you? Your hands are better than any magic, and I'm not just saying that to inflate your large head."

Seamus made a derisive noise while climbing up on the bed and shoving Dean in the shoulder. "Ye'd best be careful what you say if you're going to stay in my good graces. Or you can find someone else to rub you down, you ungrateful git."

"Hmmph," Dean said with a smile.

Seamus allowed himself the luxury of fixating on Dean's left dimple for a moment longer than necessary before situating himself behind Dean. He arranged Dean so that he was close, but not temptingly cushioned against the vee of his legs.

"Spoil ye rotten, I do," he said, placing his hands atop Dean's broad shoulder blades and beginning to massage deep into the muscles there.

"Yeah, well, suppose I deserve it," Dean rumbled, relaxing back against Seamus in a way that made him overly conscious of his now-interested cock. The last thing Dean needed to know was the physical affect he had on Seamus, so he tried willing his thoughts away from the proximity of Dean's arse to his groin.

"Ye don't deserve me," Seamus said, his voice light as he tended to the few knots he found in Dean's upper back and neck. He allowed his fingers innocently to infuse the deep affection that he wished he could demonstrate in far more intimate ways.

There was silence for a while, and a shift of timbre to the room which made Seamus uncomfortable. "That was a joke, y'know," he said across the ridge of Dean's shoulder.

Quiet continued to permeate the room, adding heaviness to the already dense summer air. Dean let out a low sigh, sinking back fully against Seamus' chest, letting his head fall against the crook of Seamus' neck. The heat of Dean's skin and the secure weight of him against Seamus' body from groin to jaw was dizzying; Seamus grasped Dean's upper arms, stilling his fingers against the wiry biceps in a failing attempt to prevent his traitorous body from reacting in a way that Dean would notice.

"I know," Dean said, his voice harbouring what seemed to be a distressing resignation. "I really don't deserve you."

Seamus' heartbeat stumbled in his chest. "What?" he asked cautiously, half-expecting Dean to go back to their usual banter and make Seamus take the piss for believing him.

"Can I be honest? Oh, fuck," Dean said, exasperated. "If I can't talk to you, who else've I got?"

"Of course you can talk honestly with me!" Seamus insisted, shifting and pushing Dean forward as though to move so they were face to face.

"No— stay there, if you don't mind," Dean said quickly, scooting back so he was solidly entrenched in the vee of Seamus' pelvis.

Seamus winced, knowing Dean must be able to feel the pressure of his thickened, but thankfully not erect cock. Maybe Dean would joke about it and move on. He put his hands down on his thighs, though he wanted nothing more than to wrap them around Dean's waist.

Dean took a deep breath. "Look. I just need to say a few things, right? So don't interrupt until you've heard me out."

"All right."

"Well, can I ask you a question first?"

"'Course."

"Do you really perve on my arse?"

"What?!" Seamus said, flustered and slightly pissed off that Dean was bringing something like that up when obviously this was a serious conversation about… something. "You're me best mate. Ye know I look at guys' arses, but—"

Seamus stopped talking before he let on just how guilty he felt about being able to admire Dean's long, wiry body without him knowing.

Dean nodded slowly, and his shoulders slumped so he curved even more against Seamus.

"Well, I know I'm nothing like Fred. But Shay, he treated you like shit. You deserve so much better than that, and I know you're sick of me saying so."

"I don't follow—"

"Well, it's just that I'd kind of hoped maybe you did, genuinely think I was appealing. I'm probably not your type, and Merlin knows we've joked about this for long enough that you'd never believe me, and, well…"

Dean eased his arms underneath Seamus', bringing them together across the lean muscle of his chest.

"I don't know what it means," Dean went on, "but I've been dreaming about you. Heaps. It's your voice, maybe, or the feel of your fingers and how you're always considerate to let me know where you are so I don't stumble over you… We have sex in my dreams, Shay. I know I can't see you now, not anymore, but when I dream I'm doing, well, we're doing all sorts of really fantastic things and your face— you look so amazing, so happy, and I'm the one who touches you, and you make these unbelievable noises…"

He huffed a quiet, pathetic laugh.

Seamus' pulse roared like the ocean. He'd been a bit lost at the mention of Fred, as he'd never thought to compare his former lover to Dean, except that Dean revered him and Fred, after professing all kinds of devotion, had turned out to be an asinine prick. But Dean— Dean was dreaming about them shagging. _His_ Dean might not fancy just birds?

"How long've you been dreamin' about me? About us? That?" Seamus asked, propping his chin on Dean's shoulder, allowing his hands to curl Dean's fingers closer in against the soft skin of his stomach.

"Since that freakish snow, back in April. You're not… offended? Well, you're not laughing, either." Dean's voice was drenched in uncertainty.

The initial shock of Dean's confession had begun to wear off, though the heated flash and tingling in Seamus' skin seemed to radiate from him. Bloody hell, he wanted to just show Dean how fucking unbelievably brilliant he thought it was that Dean fancied him, in a way that he'd not allowed himself to hope for.

"I don't know about any other blokes, Shay," Dean said softly. "But you— I can't stop imagining what you feel like, but it's not some passing thing. I'd never be as cruel as Fred was, even though I know I've not been the best boyfriend to anyone in the past, and I get moody as hell, but you already know that, gods…"

Seamus' mind was a dervish; years of their friendship, of fraternity and laughter, of occasional fights and desperate prayers to any deity who would listen to keep Dean safe during the War— they spun crazily, knocking him off-kilter into this new, unpredicted reality. Seamus let out a breath he'd not realised he'd been holding as Dean cautiously pulled their joined left hands down on top of a prominent bulge in his trackshorts.

"Oh fuck," Seamus whispered.

"You do this to me," Dean said helplessly. "I hope I've not bollixed everything up between us, but I thought I'd go batshite if I didn't say something. I mean, for fuck's sake, I was finishing a really great wank thinking about you when I slipped so spectacularly in the tub. Not that I was going to tell _that_ to any Healer, especially Ron."

Seamus let out a strangled laugh, his fingers rapaciously fondling their new steely prize.

"'S not funny," Dean muttered, though Seamus could hear the hint of a smile in his voice.

"Dean. Shut up for a minute," Seamus insisted, desperate to tell him that he'd not messed things up in any way at all. "I've got to have me say, quickly, before I fucking explode, and then you're going to let me show you just how fucking much I adore you and want to feel whatever it is ye've been dreaming about."

Dean moaned and nodded his head. Seamus slowly rubbed up and down the enticing length under the soft fabric of Dean's shorts. He'd never been more grateful for wearing boxers as his own cock practically leapt against the small of Dean's back.

"I've had thoughts for you off and on, but ye knew that. I knew you liked birds and I was okay with that, too. Things were better that way, I s'pose; better than thinking of you off with some guy. But I didn't know ye'd even considered blokes, or me. I'd hoped you might, but never expected it. You're me very best friend, Dean," he said, his other hand having slid up past the baggy shorts to reverently caress the soft, thin skin of Dean's sacs. "Yes, I've really perved on your arse. Ye're handsome, mate. Fucking beautiful," he murmured, nearly swooning with the warm, cloveish Dean scent that filled his senses. "I don't want to be just an experiment to you, though. Don't think I'd do well with that. You know I'm possessive, and I carry grudges forever."

"Not an experiment," Dean said, his husky voice settling on Seamus like buttery leather. "Like I said, I've not known what to think. It's not about blokes, generally; it's about you. I just wish I could see you." He paused and Seamus stilled his hands, uncertain how to explain that it didn't matter that Dean was blind. Evidently Dean's imagination seemed quite healthy; though he'd always been frighteningly able to intuit Seamus' moods simply by looking at him, that hadn't stopped since he'd lost his sight.

"I wish you could, too," Seamus rumbled, removing his right hand from Dean's groin so he could cradle his jaw. He turned Dean's head enough so he could speak against the corner of Dean's parted lips. "But you'll feel me, instead."

Dean's indistinct but needy groan made Seamus want to shed his skin and simply slide into him, tongues, fingers, cocks, all blended into one throbbing, fantastic being.

"Have to kiss ye, now. Have to know how you taste and feel and… ach, shove over!"

A low laugh tumbled out of Dean's mouth as Seamus edged out from behind him. He shoved down his shorts and boxers and kicked them to the floor, telling Dean what he was doing and that he'd bloody well do the same. Then there was nothing but his body pressed into Dean's; miles of Dean's corded muscle and sable skin to be ravished and explored, but only after Seamus at last had kissed him fully on the lips. Seamus reckoned that the thundering in his chest was loud enough to wake their neighbours, but he didn't care. Dean was making delicious moaning noises, his slick tongue sliding along Seamus' lips as Seamus plundered the roasting wet of Dean's mouth. Thankfully their noticeable difference in height was mostly in the length of their legs; Seamus could rock into Dean's groin, whimpering shamelessly at the friction of their cocks pushing against each other. He intertwined their fingers, their mutual hold seamless and solid.

Unbidden, a physical memory of lying astride Fred, of their more similar statures and Fred's brawn flared on his skin. The heady scent of beer and candied ginger that Dean loved to snack on overcame the older remembrance, for which Seamus was grateful. He pulled away from Dean's mouth, panting.

"I've got to taste you, okay?" he pleaded, thrusting his erection against the flat plane of Dean's pelvis. He stared into the opalescence of Dean's eyes, remembering the gorgeous chocolaty colour they'd been, the amber flecks that had radiated from his pupils. Gods, but he wished Dean could see him, see the flush and desperation that Seamus was sure was stamped on his face.

"Taste me where?" Dean gasped, disengaging his hands so he could run them down Seamus' back to knead at his arse.

"Everywhere. Ach, I love your hands on me," Seamus sighed, wriggling closer to Dean and holding his sweat-glistening face in his palms. "Mostly I want your cock in my mouth. Want ye like that, want to suck you 'til you're hoarse from yelling," he said throatily before devouring Dean's mouth, humming into his lips as he kissed him before sliding down Dean's torso.

"Gods, Shay, your mouth— wish I'd told you how I felt sooner, you feel incredibleaaaaaaaah!"

Dean's babblings were silenced as Seamus licked around the purpled crown of his cock, peeking out from its sheltering skin. Closing his eyes, Seamus swallowed as much of the long, slender cock as he could. He grinned around the slick pole when Dean arched off the bed, shouting colourful invectives and praise. As Seamus set to his task, Dean clenched his arse, the indents providing an anchor for Seamus' fingers. Musk wafted enticingly up to him as Seamus suckled and occasionally scraped carefully with his teeth. He loved giving head; adored the feel of papery skin over hard length, savoured each unique tangy flavour, his senses filled to bursting with undeniably male scents as the hot flesh slid in and out of his mouth. He listened carefully to Dean's whimpers and rumbling groans of pleasure, changing his speed or intensity so Dean didn't come to his release too soon.

"Shay," Dean sighed, his fingers scrabbling at Seamus' unruly hair. "Shay? I want to taste you too. Come up here, please," he begged, tugging at Seamus' head.

"'m I not making you feel good?" Seamus asked, his feelings slightly hurt. His own neglected cock throbbed, and he squatted back on his heels, stroking himself.

"'Course you are! You're not the very first to do that for me, but Merlin, you're amazing," Dean reassured him, easing up onto his elbows. "But I've never even really _seen_ your, well…"

"My cock, Dean. It's quite attractive. Had no complaints," Seamus joked.

"I don't doubt," Dean said, grinning and shaking his hips slightly. "But I've not felt you in my hands, not had your dick in my mouth. I don't know that I'll be any good at it at all," he admitted plaintively, one arm reaching out for Seamus.

Seamus knee-walked along the outside of Dean's legs and torso, guiding Dean's hand on his thigh as he drew closer. Seamus felt his whole body flushed with desire, his skin taut with the effort of containing his passionate joy. His heart was giddy, cavorting over itself now that he and Dean were together like this, naked and aroused. Their bodies were new canvases to paint with kisses and covetous fingers. He held the base of his cock with one hand, the other grasping Dean's shoulder for balance as all the blood in his body seemed to have lodged resolutely in his prick. When Dean sent out his tongue to swirl around the head of Seamus' cock, he shuddered with pleasure. Dean closed his eyes, lapping and teasing with his tongue until Seamus pushed his hips forward.

"Holy fuck," Seamus moaned, watching his shaft thrust in and out between Dean's lush lips. Dean was rather timid in his treatment, but it didn't matter, not right now. Technique could come later. "I think you're a natural," he murmured, moving his hand from Dean's shoulder to cradle the back of his head.

Dean pulled back with a long lick to the sensitive underside of Seamus' prick, slowly opening his unseeing eyes. "I snuck a few looks as those poufter mags you barely hid back in school, y'know," he said, his roughened voice the sexiest noise Seamus had heard in months. When Dean nuzzled the side of his face against Seamus' bobbing cock in a tender, intimate gesture, his legs trembled. "There was one picture I could never get out of my head, even though I thought I only wanted to get into girls' knickers."

"What was it?" Seamus croaked. He cleared his throat while letting the crown of his cock graze across Dean's puffy lips.

"Two blokes, lying side by side, both of them doing this to each other. At the same time," he said reverently.

Seamus' eyes grew wide and a wicked grin settled on his mouth. "You want to go at it, sixty-nine? You pervy bastard." He snickered, sitting backward so that he could snatch another barrage of nipped kisses from Dean's glistening lips. "I think I've always loved ye, but now you've stolen my heart."

When Dean sat still, an icicle of fear frissoned down Seamus' spine. He'd not been joking, but surely that wasn't really an unexpected thing to say… hadn't Dean's earlier admission meant that he felt at least something akin to what Seamus did, beyond friends?

"You do?" Dean shifted, placing a hand at the small of Seamus' back. "That's, well…" He stretched out his legs, putting his other hand around to fan out on the lower knuckles of Seamus' backbone. "You're a brave man, Seamus Finnigan."

"That, or just bloody sentimental," Seamus said, unable to stop speaking exactly what was on his mind. He dropped his head so that their foreheads touched. "Let's forget what I said and get back to the really brilliant—"

"Shay." Dean's awestruck voice commanded Seamus' attention. "You're brave for wanting to be with me. I'm not exactly low-maintenance, though Merlin knows I try to be. I trust you with everything, and I want to get to know every part of you. Outside and in."

Seamus' desire to meld into Dean surged back with a vengeance. He rubbed his cheek against the side of Dean's face, closing his eyes at the thrill of feeling Dean's stubble scraping gently against his skin.

"So how about I turn around and you get propped up on these monstrous pillows 'o mine, and we'll fulfill this long-standing fantasy of yours, right?"

Dean beamed at him before kissing him soundly and getting situated. Acute yearning bruised itself on Seamus as he manouevered himself into what was actually a rather awkward position. He'd really not given Dean's recent blindness that much thought, once they'd figured out that the damage was irreversible. Dean was still Dean, and Seamus had a sense that was part of why they continued to get on so well, because he didn't treat his best friend any differently than before. But this — being naked and snogging and sucking each other off and hopefully shagging, too — it seemed wretchedly unfair that Dean had only his mind's eye from his dreams to guess at the look on Seamus' face when he came. Not that Seamus even knew what that looked like, or the moony, adoring expression he knew sometimes settled on his face. Or so he'd been told.

Once he and Dean found a stilted but enthusiastic rhythm for their mutual fellatio, all esoteric thoughts were banished from Seamus' mind. There was only the new and delicious sensation of Dean's firm prick in his mouth, the amazing slurping sounds and humming that Dean made while doing the same to Seamus' aching cock, and the vaguely spicy musk scent that made Seamus' pulse race. He couldn't really concentrate on what all Dean was doing with his tongue because he was so focussed on bringing Dean his own pleasure; Seamus had found that an unfortunate but irrefutable problem to sex like this, but since Dean had seemed so keen on it, he'd been happy to go along. He redoubled his efforts, oddly gratified when Dean let Seamus' prick slip out of his mouth.

"Shay… oh gods, Shay, ohhhhh…" he moaned, the broken, unguarded noise heralding his release. Seamus swallowed the vinegarsweet fluid, keeping his lips moving slowly on Dean's shaft until he choked out a sound of distress.

"Too sensitive, oh fuck, you're amazing. Come up here, please?" he said imploringly.

After wiping his lips with the back of his hand and ghosting a kiss at the hollow above Dean's thigh, Seamus turned back around to lie in Dean's welcoming arms.

"Like that?" Seamus asked, pressing his still-hard erection against Dean's hip.

"Un-fucking-believable." Dean shook his head slowly. "I'm boneless. But I've not taken care of you."

Tilting his head back, Seamus slid an open-mouthed kiss down Dean's jaw to his chin. "Ye've got great skills with that left hand of yours. Budge down and lie next to me. I won't be going soft anytime soon."

Dean snorted, and rearranged their bodies so he could take Seamus in hand. Not one to be ashamed about such things, Seamus told him exactly what felt good to him, how he liked to be stroked slowly, and to hold tighter while sliding up, and to run his thumb over the head.

"Bit faster, oh, fuck, just like that…." Seamus' orgasm roiled through him with such intensity that his toes cramped up, his feet arching inward like talons. He panted loudly through the aftershocks, eventually prying off the hand that'd been grasped to the headboard so he could turn and drape his arm over Dean's side.

"You sound really sexy when you come," Dean murmured, sliding down the bed so they were face to face. He gently let go of Seamus' softening cock, holding his ejaculate-covered fingers up to his nose and mouth before licking off some of the pungent fluid. Seamus couldn't stifle a whimper when Dean closed his eyes, smearing a thin layer of come on his mouth and mashing his lips together.

"Don't taste bad, either," Dean said, his expression thoughtful. "Bit saltier than mine. Think I could get quite used to it."

"You're really okay with this? Being with me, just cocks and arse and no soft jiggly bits?" Seamus said half-teasingly, rubbing his sweaty forehead against a pillowcase while Dean wiped his hand on his thigh.

"Well, you know I've no other men to compare you to, and I really don't get all that hot and bothered thinking about other men's bodies. But you," he slid his arm around Seamus' back to pull him in close enough that they breathed the same hot air, "you're who I want to be with. We're still going to be okay around each other, right?"

"What do ye mean? Of course we are!" Seamus insisted. "You'll still throw a fit if I forget to put in a new roll of loo paper when we're nearly out, and I'll trip over your stacks of books in the living room and swear at you, and we'll do the crossword like we do every morning, and we'll have mid-afternoon tea or beer together like we do every afternoon, and it'll be just like always. But better," he said softly.

The late afternoon sun bathed the room in tawny light, a hazy stream from the window highlighting the contrast of Seamus' freckled leg sprawled over Dean's dark, lean thigh.

"Better sounds pretty unreal," Dean said, closing his eyes and blowing upwards to dry some of the sweat from his face. "Where'll we sleep? At night, I mean?"

Seamus eased out from under Dean's arm, muttering about a low-grade wind charm which he cast once he found his wand. "I don't know." Seamus crawled back onto his bed, stretching out on his back as Dean had decided to sit upright again. "Suppose we can alternate our rooms. I mean, ye're not wanting to move to just a one-room place, are you? I thought you were comfortable here in this flat. That bloody cat that keeps lurking around the flat block wants to adopt you. Who'd feed it if we left?"

Dean's lips turned down and with uncanny ability, he pinched Seamus' left nipple.

"Ow! Fuck!" Seamus swore, rubbing at his abused skin.

"I don't want to move, you arse. I just, well, if we're lovers now, or boyfriends…" There was a fleeting look of distaste on Dean's face before he continued on. "Nothing against Harry and Ron, or anybody else like that who's a pair, but I hate that term."

"Like _that_?" Seamus chortled. "What do you think ye are?"

Dean seemed to turn inward, his brows furrowing and intertwining his fingers so that they were inverted toward the ceiling.

"Fuck, mate, that's not what I meant to say," Seamus said, backpedaling and wishing he'd not sounded like a total prick. Dean had said he didn't think he was into men as a general manner of taste. And yet here Seamus was, not ten minutes after being the first man Dean had ever been physically involved with, his best mate, and putting his foot in it.

"No, I know, Shay. It's just not that obvious to me. I've been really attracted to girls, and then there's you. You're what feels right. But we're equal, y'know? Being thought of as a boyfriend just makes me ill."

"You can just tell people I'm your willing sex slave," Seamus offered, trying to bring back some humour to their conversation. "Or hell, why do we have to be like other couples, anyway? We're us. Don't have to be all in the face of the Prophet just because some of their editors are fucking homophobes; Ron and Harry do that already. Ye're Dean, I'm Seamus, we're best mates, always have been."

"But now we don't have to cast silencing spells on our rooms and wank alone," Dean said, a warm smile blooming on his lips. "Just don't go and getting all romantic and sentimental on me."

"Me? What makes you think I'd do something daft like that?" Seamus harrumphed, crossing his arms on his chest. "I may give you blow jobs that leave you absolutely shattered, but that doesn't mean I'm going to start writing you crap poetry and buying you flowers. I'm queer, not a bloody girl."

"I know. Reckon that's why I think this is the best thing that's ever happened," Dean said, his voice unexpectedly thick.

Seamus turned his head, uncrossing his arms and getting up onto his elbows. "Ye do?"

"Yeah. I want to be the best for you. I know you've had your feelings pretty messed up before, but I promise I won't do anything like that on purpose. You deserve better. And I…"

Dean paused, as though wary of the words he wanted to say.

"I'm yours, Seamus. I don't know how else to say it."

Seamus breathed deeply of the air of trust, nodding his head, though Dean couldn't see it. "I think I know what you mean." He leaned over to kiss Dean's chest above his heart. "Thank you."  



	3. Chapter 3

  
Author's notes: Chapter notes: My thanks to Wolfie for the use of his creation, _Un-Robed!_ , yet again.  


* * *

The flat was dark as usual when Seamus sauntered quietly through the living room. He glanced at the cracked open door to Dean's room; chances were he was asleep, not being quite the night owl that Seamus was. He listened for a moment, hearing nothing from the room.

"Dean?" he whispered in a hush. A low snuffling sounded in reply.

Having established that he wasn't awake, Seamus took a pull from his flask before heading out to their small patio. The stars had been shocking in their clarity, and Seamus wanted a bit more time to stare in awe at them. Astronomy was one of the only subjects Seamus had done well in at Hogwarts, having studied the night sky on his own since he was a young boy. He marvelled at the glistering expanse for some time, his thoughts turning to Dean as they so often did. Things were spectacular between the two of them; he could barely keep his hands off Dean and the feeling appeared to be mutual, if the constant bloom of hickeys hidden under Seamus' clothes was any indication. But becoming lovers had changed Seamus' perceptions in unexpected ways to do with Dean's blindness. He'd readily accepted that fact before, but now he'd become uncharacteristically thoughtful about things Dean could never see— or never see again. Seamus was now hyper aware of moving things around, and careful of the candles he lit. Dean told Seamus to quit acting like his fucking mother, and that had mostly settled things. Still, Seamus wished that they could stargaze together— he wanted them to do everything together, as full of sentimental tripe as that was.

At last he forced himself back inside, ready to curl up next to Dean. After brushing his teeth, he cast a faint _Lumos_ at the end of his wand so he could see, shed his clothes, and eased next to his lover under the thin sheet. Dean shifted slightly as Seamus spooned at his side.

"'re home," Dean mumbled sleepily.

"Yeah." Seamus kissed the side of his neck, a faint salty flavour lingering on Dean's skin.

"Got a note from Harrynron," Dean said, his voice sluggish. "Like a Howler, so I could hear it. They want to have us over. Something about swimming."

"They've a nice pool, so I've heard," Seamus said, snuggling closer. "When've we been invited?"

"Saturday," Dean replied through a yawn, pulling Seamus' arm over his waist despite the warm evening. "But I've not got a suit."

"We can go buy one," Seamus said, the vision of Dean in a skimpy pair of Speedos flashing in his mind.

"Hmmmph."

Seamus fell quickly to sleep, imagining lying next to Dean on a comfortable deck chair, smirking as his former classmates ogled his beloved.

* * * * *

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! Bloody hell, I've ridden with you loads of times!" Dean said, exasperated.

"Fine, okay. Hold on."

Seamus gunned his motorbike to life, grinning inwardly. He'd bought his motorcycle a couple of months after the War as a kind of 'Praise Merlin, I'm still alive' gift for himself. He knew that he and Dean made a striking pair on it: Dean with this long, shorts-clad legs and his wiry arms wrapped around him; Seamus himself with his leather trousers and the matching wide oxblood leather wristbands that he wore all the time. He drove them through London to Harrod's, determined that Dean would get a bathing suit to enjoy the afternoon and evening over at their friends' house. Seamus basked in the looks they got, cruising along the streets until he got to a nearby car park. Dean got out his walking stick, another Muggle coping mechanism he used when out in unfamiliar areas. He hated being dependent on anybody. Seamus knew this, so he didn't offer his arm. Now that they were a couple, however, he felt no guilt whatsoever in draping his arm around the back of Dean's waist, sticking the tops of his fingers in Dean's right back pocket.

They made their way to the swimwear section where Seamus picked out a few suits per Dean's specifications and escorted Dean to a fitting room. Seamus had covertly snagged a pair of Speedos, and when Dean asked to be handed a pair, Seamus thrust the small bit of spandex into his hands. Dean ran his elegant fingers over the silky material, his expression turning to one of utter incredulity.

"You're fucking joking!" he exclaimed, holding up the pair of Speedos, the suit a cerulean shimmer of stretchy near-nothingness. "I'm not even going to try this on. I _can't_ try this on! Hand me a normal pair of togs, you git. Just because you perv on my arse doesn't mean I'm about to put it out on display wearing something like that."

"But Dean," Seamus wheedled. "You're gorgeous. Your body's thin and muscley and fuck, I'll want to jump all over you in it. C'mon, be open minded."

"NO," Dean growled.

"Sirs? Do you need assistance?" The clerk's anxious but intrigued voice sounded outside of their changing room. Seamus had noticed him giving Dean's arse more than a once-over, feeding Seamus' perhaps unhealthy smugness of being obviously _with_ Dean. "You _do_ know that for health reasons you must keep your undergarments on when trying on swimwear."

"Yes, we know," Seamus called out.

"Shay. No."

"Dean. Just try it, please?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Bloody hell, no. I'm going to buy a proper pair of surfer shorts. Here, hand me the ones with the 32" waist and corded tie."

"You're no fun," Seamus sulked, but he did as requested. "You're an Adonis, with a perfect body," he prattled on, watching Dean as he quickly took off his tracksuit shorts and pulled on the long bathing suit. "Not like me, and me pudge," Seamus said ruefully, poking at the soft belly currently laced into his trousers.

"Don't hear me complaining," Dean said with a warm smile that made Seamus' heart trip over itself. He adjusted the cording at the waist. "I think these are a bit big. What do you think?"

Seamus didn't even try to be objective. "They cover up too much of you."

"Shay," Dean warned. "Honestly."

"They're a bit big," Seamus said reluctantly. "Try the next size down. Or eat more."

Ten minutes later they were buying a pair of brightly patterned surfer shorts, though Seamus had noted what size Dean wore, filing the information away for a future purchase.

"Want to go for a bit of a ride?" Seamus asked as they made their way back to the car park. "We've not been out on Seth in a while."

"Sure! Sun's pretty nice, isn't it?" Dean observed, slowing his footsteps and tilting his head toward the sky like a flower to light.

"You'd know, Mister I Like To Sunbathe Nude," Seamus said, slipping his hand into Dean's back pocket again. They manoeuvred around some cars and got into the ancient lift to take them down to the bottom level.

Dean shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't burn. And I'm not totally nude, at least not lying on my back. That'd be painful."

When they got to Seth, the name Seamus had given to his motorcycle, Seamus handed Dean's helmet over to him.

"Thanks, for this," Dean said, leaning forward uncertainly and patting the air until he made contact with Seamus' shoulder.

"Thanks for going out in public with me. You've had your share of looks, mate." Seamus moved closer to Dean, noting Dean's furrowed brows. "Interested looks, that is," Seamus clarified.  
  
Dean seemed to be concentrating on something. With a bit of fumbling, he put the helmet back on a handlebar. "Are we mostly alone?"

Seamus glanced about. "Yeah. Why?"

Dean lowered his head, bumping noses with Seamus before sliding his lips against Seamus' mouth. "'Cause I want to kiss you." His words were a warm exhalation of need. Seamus replied by snaking his arm around Dean's waist, pulling their bodies together as Dean's tongue delved into Seamus' mouth.

After long, slick moments passed by, their kissing becoming more greedy and intense, Dean moved back, panting slightly. "We'd better take that ride now before I rub you raw," he said, his hands anchored on Seamus' backside, continuing to grind his hips into Seamus'.

"I don't go to work 'til four," Seamus said, his pulse galloping at his temple and his thickening cock very interested in an afternoon shag. "Plenty 'o time."

"Good."

With a last chaste kiss, Dean shuffled back slightly, retrieved his helmet, and waited for Seamus to get on the motorbike. Seamus grinned like a loon, half-aroused, straddling his motorcycle with his less and less inhibited lover securely lodged behind him. He could definitely get used to feeling like this.

* * * * *

Saturday came, warm and sunny— an idyllic and frankly surprisingly gorgeous day, given some of the Muggle weather forecasts Seamus had heard on their Wireless. Dean made a dozen devilled eggs to take with them, with Seamus hovering around to answer a few questions and get the ingredients in usage order. Seamus had taken the easy way out and bought a few large bags of crisps and some dip. While Dean artistically sprinkled paprika on the eggs, feeling his way around the serving plate with his fingers, Seamus went off and packed their suits, towels, spare set of clothes, sunblock and sunning oil. There were sun repelling spells, of course, but Seamus liked the smell of sunscreen and he adored the scent of the oil Dean used when he sunbathed on their patio. Plus, it was yet another excuse to rub his hands all over Dean's skin, and vice versa. With a mischievous smile, Seamus tucked the azure wisp of bathing suit into the bottom of his duffel. He'd gone back to Harrod's and bought the more revealing suit, hoping he could convince Dean to wear it. Seamus wasn't entirely sure why he was so obsessed by the idea of Dean in the pair of Speedos, the shiny blue fabric clinging to his arse, his nicely-shaped cock nestled in the fabric, leaving nothing to the imagination… Okay, so it was pretty bloody obvious why he wanted Dean in that suit. He wanted to show Dean off, though, too. It wasn't that Harry and Ron weren't unattractive, they were alright in their own ways, but they didn't do anything for Seamus, that was for sure…

The tinkling sound of shattered porcelain and Dean's loudly yelled "FUCK!" snapped Seamus out of his reverie. He ran into the kitchen to see Dean nudging his toes at a splattered mess of devilled eggs and plate shards. His expression was livid, his eyes narrowed as he aimed his wand at a section of ruined plate and cast a _Reparo_.

"Here, I'll get it," Seamus offered, but Dean's angry look gave him pause.

"I fucking HATE THIS!" Dean bellowed, shuffling to the side and onto a sharp-edged sliver of serving platter before Seamus could warn him. "Ow! Dammit!"

"Stand still!" Seamus barked, kneeling down and placing his hands on Dean's shins to give Dean some bearing as to his body's location. "Pick up your foot."

Dean continued a ceaseless litany of invectives muttered under his breath. Seamus plucked out the bit of ceramic which had managed to cut deeply enough that blood began dripping down over Seamus' hands.

"You're bleeding," he told Dean. "Let's go to the bathroom. I'll wash it out and cast a suturing spell."

Dean only made an angry rumbling sound in reply, but he took Seamus' arm and hobbled down the hallway. Seamus did his best to ignore the seething ire radiating off Dean as he took care of the wound. It didn't take too long, however, for Dean's overreaction to get to him.

"What's wrong with ye?" he asked once the suture had closed the clean slice. "It was just eggs. The plate's fixed."

"I'm fucking blind," Dean said, his voice dripping scorn. "I'm a menace. I'm not fucking good for anything. Can't see you, I run into things if they're not exactly where I expect them to be, I barely go out of the flat by myself. I—" His hands became menacing fists, burrowed against his legs. "I can't paint anymore— oh gods, Shay. I miss it so fucking much."

Dean let out a primal, heart-rending sob, the anguish so piercing it made Seamus tear up himself. He held onto Dean as he cried and cried, trying to absorb the ragged coughs and wails as Dean's frustration, anger and loss poured out of him. For long moments Seamus ran his hands up and down Dean's back, rocking him slightly and murmuring soothing noises. At last Dean's sobbing became a string of syrupy wordless lamentations; eventually he was quiet save his sniffling.

Seamus was painfully aware that any words he chose to try and console this man so dear to him would only be flat, fragmented hints of what he truly meant. But he felt that he needed to say something.

"I love you so much, Dean," Seamus said quietly, leaning across Dean to get some loo paper and placing it in Dean's hand. Dean thanked him and blew his nose. "I feel like a right git— you'd just seemed to be doing so well, but I'd not asked ye how you really felt about all that you've had to deal with. You can punch holes in the wall, mate; I'll nudge yer wand to get it dead on if you want, but your Reparo spells are the best I've ever seen."

A weak smile tried to lodge on Dean's lips before sliding away. "Thanks. Really." He rubbed under his nose before accepting another handout of loo paper. "It's not that I was going to be a great artist or anything, y'know, but at least I could've kept drawing for fun, or painting. It's made me nearly mad ever since we've been flatmates. I have all these drawings of you, and our mates from Hogwarts, and I'd wanted to paint you here, just like I used to. And now, now…" He took in a shuddering breath. Seamus, feeling as useful as a fake wand, put his hand on Dean's knee, rubbing the bony knob underneath the joint with his thumb.

"Not that I would've done gargantuan portraits of you naked and framed them to put above the fireplace, but I can't even see you to know how you look. I miss people's faces; I hate that I hear everything so clearly and I can nearly tell when you're winking or have that wicked smile on your face, but I only really see it when I'm asleep." He let out a deep sigh and Seamus couldn't stop himself; he draped himself onto the tops of Dean's legs, placing his head sideways and holding on under Dean's knees.

"Don't mean to be all woe is me," Dean said, leaning back against the tank and running his fingers through Seamus' hair. "Could be worse, of course. Could be dead. And you've got a few deep scars, don't you?"

"Oh yeah." Seamus' skin looked as though much of the War had been fought directly on him. His face had had dodged some of the worst ones, but it was only due to luck. He rubbed his cheek against the slightly scratchy hair on Dean's leg. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked hopefully, even though he knew there really wasn't. Dean's blindness didn't bother him, but it did weigh heavily on him at times. It was absolutely nothing like the deep suffering that Dean had been keeping to himself, to be sure.

"No, but thanks. Well, give me a kiss, and then help me figure out what to take. I'd like a drink, but reckon I should wait 'til we get over to Harry and Ron's."

"I'm bringing a bottle of Absinthe; you won't be lacking," Seamus promised. He pecked a kiss on Dean's knee before getting up from the floor, his knees cracking. Placing his hands on Dean's shoulders, he straddled Dean's lap and leaned in to place a deep, half-open kiss on Dean's lips. Dean's lips pressed sweetly against Seamus', a bit of damp still on the tips of Dean's long eyelashes brushing against Seamus' eyelids. He wondered how he'd done so long without this precious, elemental aspect of his best friend. Dean had never been as physical a person as Seamus, but after years as friends, hugging Dean had become less like holding a tree trunk and more an actual affectionate, comforting gesture.

"Let's go and get you out in the sun," Seamus said, mouthing a dry kiss at the corner of Dean's mouth.

"You just want to show off in front of Ron and Harry," Dean said, his voice mock-accusatory.

"And what if I do? I'm really bloody happy. You're fucking gorgeous, and you're me…" he stopped for dramatic pause.

"I'm not your boyfriend," Dean said, one lip curling up into a sneer, but there was no bite in his words.

"Nah. You're me Dean."

* * * * *

"Hi! Glad you could make it! Ah— hmmmm," Ron pronounced meaningfully as he welcomed Dean and Seamus to the house he and Harry shared in the hamlet of Homely Downs. "I wondered when or if you'd come around, but I see that things've gone well. Congratulations, both of you."

His forehead furrowed, Seamus looked at the knowing glint in Ron's eyes. "What the bloody hell code was that?!" he asked.

"Yeah, hey Ron. Thanks for having us over," Dean said as Seamus guided him through the doorframe. "What're you on about?" Dean asked, similarly confused.

Ron's smile blazed. "Well, not to be rude, but you both seem quite… content. Satisfied. I don't need to do an auralic to tell that your magic has imprinted on each other."

Dean swept his stick in front of him, tapping the leg of a dark ochre leather couch. He stopped and glanced in Seamus' direction. Seamus lifted his head high, adjusting his duffle bag in his left arm and wrapping his other arm around the back of Dean's waist.

"Yeah, we're pretty bloody content. Or I am—" he started before Dean cut him off, draping his arm over Seamus' shoulders.

"Seamus is an absolutely brilliant kisser and all kinds of other things I'm not going to elaborate on." Dean's voice was a rich marbling of defiance and affection. "We're more than flatmates, if that's what you're getting at. So no flirting with him or I'll have to hex you. He's mine." Dean squeezed Seamus' bicep with his hand.

"Hey, Dean and Seamus!" Harry's voice preceded his appearance from around a corner. "Oh!"

Seamus watched bemusedly as Harry saw their posture and figured out that things had changed between Dean and him. He'd felt a flush creep stealthily from his chest halfway up his neck at Dean's possessive commentary; he'd never had anyone claim him so blatantly before, at least not in public.

"We're shagging, okay? Now who's going to be a gentleman and get me a drink?" Dean said, tugging on Seamus to move them along.

Ron snorted. "I'll be bartender and let Harry take you 'round. What would you like?"

"Firewhiskey," Dean said authoritatively.

"Two," Seamus seconded.

"Right! They'll be poolside once Harry gives you the tour. Not that it'll take that long," he said with a huffed laugh.

"Thanks," Dean said, moving his arm so that he stood alone.

"Well," Harry began, "this is the living room."

Harry gave them a brisk tour of their home, and Seamus thanked Harry inwardly at how well he did in guiding Dean about stairs and furniture, explaining the rooms' layouts and describing some of the knickknacks and the pictures that adorned the walls without it seeming laboured or forced. Seamus gaped at many of the framed photographs; of all things, Harry had taken a shine to photography after the War. The _Daily Prophet_ had initially tried to recruit him to their staff, but once Harry had realised just how conservative the editorial staff was in regards to queer wizards, he'd treated their offers with outspoken derision. Instead, he'd taken his talent over to _Un-Robed!_ , a tasteful but still sexually explicit magazine geared for the small wizarding gay male culture. Perhaps due partially to his fame, _Un-Robed!_ 's subscriptions had more than tripled since he'd come on board. There were a couple of discreet outtake photographs of recognisable faces — and bodies — including Oliver Wood. What primarily captured Seamus' eye, however, were the casual portraits of Ron, mostly clothed, but there were a few nudes as well.

"Dean, you'd flip out over some of these prints," Seamus said, walking at his side as they made their way downstairs.

"Do you like them?" Harry asked, a hint of embarrassment tinged in his voice as he scratched his shoulder blade. "I disillusion a lot of them when Molly comes to visit. She knows what I do for a living, of course, but still— Ron says he doesn't need his mum seeing his bits out on display." He grinned crookedly, and Seamus felt a twinge of guilt at having housed some uncharitable thoughts about Harry's and Ron's flagrant pride and happiness.

"S'pose it's all right that I can't see them either," Dean said, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Ah, good," Ron said, two tumblers full of firewhiskey in his hands as they went through the sliding glass doors to the pool outside. "Seamus, Dean, here y'go."

They accepted the proffered beverages before Dean took off with Ron around the rectangular pool and small Jacuzzi at the end. His walking stick made a tinny, repetitive tapping sound as he swung it in front of him from left to right. Harry poured himself some wine and came back to join Seamus.

"How's the pub?" he asked, clinking their glasses together before Seamus took a long swallow of the potent firewhiskey.

"Great! Malcom's a good boss, the customers are usually fun to serve, and I'm a natural," he said with a wink.

"You were in school!" Harry exclaimed with a small laugh.

"Yeah. Well, I like my days. There's a lot of routine, but it suits me. Living with Dean's been fantastic and now, well, it's really fucking fantastic."

"No pun intended, I'm sure," Harry said, snorting into his glass.

"I think it's time to get in!" Ron declared as he and Dean approached. "Why don't you two go to the guest room to change."

"We brought food, too. Shay?" Dean tilted his head, his milky eyes roving toward where Seamus and Harry stood.

"Got it. It's nothing special— some crisps, and a platter of meats and cheese. Finger food," Seamus said, edging closer to Dean. "You want I should bring them outside or put them in the kitchen?"

"Out here's fine."

They put their drinks down, and then Seamus led Dean back into the house and a bright viridian and yellow striped room. After closing the door, he engorged the duffel bag and began rifling through it. He handed Dean the suit he'd bought, who took it with a slight twist to his lips.

"What?" Seamus asked, pulling his t-shirt over his head.

"Dunno. Guess I, well, maybe I wish I'd listened to you at Harrod's. Wouldn't mind showing off a bit after all, if you really think I'm all that to look at."

"Oh, I do," Seamus said, his voice husky. He yanked at Dean's shirt until Dean pulled it off. Seamus wrapped his arms over Dean's waist, their torsos pressed together. He licked at one of Dean's dark nipples and Dean moaned, making a frustrated whimper as Seamus tugged it gently to hardness in his teeth.

"Not fair, Shay," he said, his long fingers massaging Seamus' arse. "I can't go out there with a bloody hard-on like I'm twelve or something."

"All right, I'll leave ye be. For now," Seamus crooned, cradling Dean's jaw in his hands and guiding Dean's lips to his for a deep, open-mouthed kiss. Their tongues danced a wet, sensuous tango that left Seamus with his own cock growing to attention.

"Not helping," Dean said, the words rumbling from his chest as they broke apart.

"I have something for you," Seamus said, certain the smug happiness could be heard in his voice.

"I should be worried," Dean joked, unzipping his shorts while holding onto a bedpost. He adjusted his heavy cock, pressing down on it in an attempt to subdue it to a more flaccid state.

"No. Just hold out your hand."

Dean did as bidden and Seamus placed the folded pair of Speedos onto his palm.

"You didn't," Dean chuckled, bringing the suit up to his nose to sniff at the stretchy fabric.

"Yeah, I really did," Seamus said proudly. "Now put it on and be quick about it. We've some serious drinking to do."

"You have a one track mind," Dean said with a wide smile.

"Yep. Well, no, two tracks. You _and_ drinking."

Dean sniggered, stepping into the small suit before adjusting the elastic under the curve of his rounded arsecheeks. "Do I really—"

"Yes! Bloody hell! C'mon."

Once back outside, Dean made his way to the chair he'd laid a claim to, spreading out his towel before unfolding his long frame into it with a contented sigh. Ron let out a long, low wolf-whistle.

"I'll just be getting my camera," Harry said, the chair creaking as he made to stand up.

"You bloody well will not!" Dean yelled, but he Seamus could tell that he felt flattered by the attention.

"That's right. The only one who gets to perve on that fine arse is me," Seamus said, puffing out his chest and pulling his chair closer to Dean's.

"Must admit I wasn't looking at his arse," Ron leered. "More firewhiskey?"

"YES," Seamus and Dean answered in tandem.

The sultry afternoon eased through the gloaming into an equally lazy, warm night. The four friends chatted, noshed, paddled around on a couple of floats that Harry conjured, and drank. Copiously. Seamus had started prattling on, pointing out the beginnings of the first twinkling constellations in the darkening sky when Ron plopped a fascinating layered drink on the table next to him. Seamus leaned over to sniff it, looking at the two chartreuse bands with a near-black layer in the middle.

"What on Circe's tits is this?" he slurred slightly. "I'm the bartender, and I don't know what it is. You've—" he held it up to his face. "Good on you, mate! You found me absinthe. But…"

"Of all people!" Ron laughed loudly. "It's an Irish volcano. Bitter Banshee, Guinness, and absinthe."

"I'll not be able to get home after I have something like that!" Dean said, though he accepted his own glass. "Fuck, I'll not be able to get out of my chair. Can we sleep over?"

"Hoped you would," Harry said, easing up onto his elbow and giving them a sloppy, heartfelt grin. "Slumber party. S'like being back at Howarts."

"Sentimental prat," Ron said, twisting Harry's nipple and he yelped.

"Fuck off," Harry said half-heartedly, aiming a swat at Ron's abdomen.

"'S'not bad. Wicked vicious," Seamus said with approval. "How'd you come up with it?"

"I didn't. Fred did. Well, both of the twins. Speaking of Fred, d'you mind going to see him?" Ron's tone had become less playful, and the suggestion met with a low growl from Dean. "Not that he's my responsibility, but he's been in a right bad state. You were there for him during the War, tentmates and all that. You went to Wheezes' re-opening, right?"

Seamus knocked back half of the strong drink, even though he knew he'd regret it. Once he quit coughing, he said, "Yeah. Dean and I went."

"Thought I saw you there. Anyway, he's not been himself. I know he took it really, really hard when George was killed, but you seemed to do a world of good for him. Don't you keep up? You probably know what's going on more than I do."

"I doubt it," Seamus said a bit bitterly.

Through the cottony fuzziness of his imbibing, it occurred to him that Harry and Ron didn't know he and Fred had been lovers and had had a deep emotional pull to each other. Or so Seamus had believed. Dean continued to make a barely audible displeased rumbling noise as Harry pressed the point.

"Did you get in a row or something? Seems strange," Harry said, cocking his head and straightening his glasses that had gone askew when he'd rubbed at his nose.

"Yeah, kind of. Nothing big," Seamus lied outright, wanting to steer away from the topic as quickly as possible. "I'll go see him next week, promise. Don't know that I can help much, but I'll visit him at Wheezes."

Seamus could hear Dean's fuming in the heavy breaths through his nose.

"Good on you. Thanks," Ron said, toasting him. "He's always saying what a great bloke you are, whenever we meet up at the Badger."

"He does?" Seamus spluttered.

"I'm getting in the Jacuzzi," Dean said darkly.

"Want help?" Seamus scrambled out of his chair, barely averting a near-catastrophe of glasses, towels and bruised ankles.

"No," Dean insisted, scowling.

"Dean, what's the matter?" Harry asked, his voice full of concern. "Sorry to bring up the War—"

"It's not bloody that. I just want to sit and enjoy the bubbles, alright?!" Dean carefully extracted himself from his chair, but Harry was in full worried host mode and wouldn't let it rest.

"But—"

"Harry, will you go get me some chocolate?" Ron asked plaintively, not paying a whit of attention to the quickly passing drama between Dean and Seamus.

"What? Oh, sure. You'd better come with. I don't know which ones you want. Oh, and I have an idea…" he paused and whispered something into Ron's ear but Seamus had quit paying attention.

He joined Dean in the swirling bubbles, relaxing against one of the jets and daringly putting his feet out to rub against Dean's shins. Dean didn't shift away, and Seamus felt he was making headway. He also didn't think he'd done anything wrong, but he didn't want Dean to be mad at him, regardless.

"Why're you mad?" Seamus asked once they were alone.

"Because Fred's a prick. You don't owe him anything."

Seamus pondered that for a moment. "True enough, but it couldn't hurt. Just to see what's going on. He was a decent bloke…"

Dean let out a deep breath. "Okay, fine. You're not going to shag him while you visit, are you?"

"Fuck, no!" _That_ thought honestly hadn't even crossed his mind, despite the amount he'd had to drink.

"Good." Dean stretched out his hand and Seamus clasped it willingly. "C'mere, and kiss me like you mean it."

Seamus didn't need to be asked twice. He scooted over and folded up his legs so that he sat in Dean's lap, facing him. He took his time placing a swath of soft kisses along Dean's forehead and cheeks before settling on his lips. Dean opened his mouth with a low moan of pleasure and they simply sat, letting their tongues slide and tangle for a while, the bubbles swirling around them. Eventually Seamus drew back, though he shifted just a bit to more fully feel Dean's thickening erection against the base of his arse.

"Pretty brilliant day, eh?" he said quietly.

Dean's hand came up from the water and with his thumb, he traced Seamus' lips.

"Reckon so."

"Oy! Lovebirds! We're off to bed!" Ron's voice shouted from the glass doors.

Both Seamus and Dean's heads turned at the sound, and Seamus grinned. Ron lounged in the doorframe in a pair of boxers, Harry plastered behind him, his head resting against Ron's shoulder. "Just make yourselves at home. We'll see you in the morning."

"Thanks, guys," Dean called back. "We're not far behind you."

"G'night!" Harry said, and then the door slid shut.

"You really ready to go in?" Seamus asked, wriggling his arse further into Dean's lap.

"Well, I'm ready to get in bed," he replied slyly.

"Let's go, then."

After brushing their teeth, Seamus cast a Nox on the lamp in the corner. Dean had already collapsed into the decadently soft bed, smoothing his hands over the silky cotton of the sheets. Seamus crawled up on the bed, burrowing half on and half off of Dean. Hands wandered over steely and soft skin, incautious kissed smeared over lips and necks, muffled groans and panting heralded their untidy releases. Seamus had fallen half-asleep, his hand still loosely grasped around Dean's torpid cock when Dean Accio'ed his wand to clean them up.

"'Night," he said through a yawn. "Oh, will you get us some water? We're going to wake up dying of thirst, what with all we drank today."

"Nnnnhrrrrrrrr…" Seamus groused inarticulately.

"Go on." Dean pushed him, forcing Seamus awake.

"Fine." Rolling his eyes for his own benefit, Seamus shuffled into the kitchen and found a couple of bottles of water in their fridge. Once back in bed, he stretched out, a tired smile playing on his lips when Dean put an arm over his ribcage. Moments later he was asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

  
Author's notes: Fred at last has arrived in the story. :)  


* * *

Seamus was well into his third cup of tea, working on the _Prophet_ 's crossword when Dean walked slowly into the dining room, rubbing a spot on his upper shoulder.

"What's a seven-letter word for extreme anger? Starts with V?" he asked before noticing the preoccupied expression on Dean's face.

"Vitriol," he answered shortly, feeling his way around the chairs into the kitchen. He poured himself some tea into the cup Seamus had put on the counter for him.

"You all right?"

Dean's brow furrowed, then he seemed to sink in on himself, deflated.

"S'pose."

He brought his tea to the table and sat down, banging his knee against one of the table legs and swearing.

"What's wrong?" Seamus was a little worried; they'd not spoken of Dean's meltdown from a few days ago, but the memory of his rasping cries and the depth of his obvious distress was not one Seamus would forget anytime soon.

Dean blew on his tea before taking a couple of sips. "You were talking in your sleep. Moaning, more like."

"What were you doing to me in me dreams, I wonder?" Seamus said saucily.

"I wasn't doing anything. Fred was."

Seamus' humour sank stone-like into a heavy, awkward pit of his stomach.

"Beg pardon?" Seamus almost never remembered his dreams, not that he minded. Apparently his upcoming visit to Wheezes was weighing on him more than he'd realised.

"You were moaning his name, Shay. I got up— spent some time on the couch. I know it doesn't mean anything, but I felt left out. It's nothing."

"It's not nothing if it made you get up and leave me," Seamus said, his mouth twisting down to the side. "'Course, you're right— it doesn't mean anything. Just a dream. Sorry it made you feel out of sorts, especially since I don't remember it! You know you're the only one I want to be with."

"I know." A hint of a smile drifted across Dean's features as his long fingers tapped a slow rhythm against the side of his teacup. "Just being an insecure git. Hey, are we still on for our picnic?"

"Too right," Seamus enthused, waving his wand so that the teapot came drifting over to the table. "I'll pick you up from Auralibris. What're yer hours today, again?"

"Ten to one."

"Perfect. I don't think it'll be too hot, either. Just right for a nosh and a nap, out in nature."

"Sounds good. Pour me some more tea, will you?"

Seamus did, gladly, relieved that Dean seemed content to slide back into their usual routine. He puttered around while Dean showered and dressed. Guilt goaded him into writing a belated thank you note to Ron and Harry, and he snagged Dean for his signature before he took the Floo network to Auralibris. Seamus got cleaned up as well, but then became drawn in by a new wizarding soap opera on the telly that had an absolutely gorgeous Quidditch player as one of the lead characters. Before he knew it, it was noon and he found himself scrambling to get his picnic things together. It wasn't as though this activity was usual or common for them; Seamus had wanted something different to do since the weather was mild, and he knew that Dean often felt cooped up. He couldn't imagine how he'd feel if Dean went so stir-crazy that he snapped and simply went out and managed to get injured or Merlin knew what else, especially if Seamus didn't know where in Hades Dean had gone.

Creativity in their days was something Seamus actively worked on, both inside and outside of their respective bedrooms. To that end, he put a new tube of lubricant in the bottom of the hamper. They'd pleasured each other in a variety of ways, but Seamus had yet to know how Dean felt buried inside of him. The topic had come up; Dean just hadn't come around and said that he was ready for that yet. Seamus believed that Dean was, though, having been the grateful recipient as Dean had grown more and more comfortable and enthusiastic in their physical joinings.

The hopeful thought of Dean pushing into him while basking under the sun, his hands and knees on a blanket spread out over soft ground… Seamus had to press his palm on his growing arousal, shifting it in his shorts with a shake of his head. Distracted, he made a few sandwiches, tossed in some crisps and several butterbeers, napkins, some strawberries, and chocolate biscuits that he'd picked up the last time he'd gone to Simply Divine.

"You're going to have to go running or some rubbish if ye keep eatin' like you do," Seamus grumbled to himself. In truth, he didn't mind his soft belly that much. Dean didn't take issue with it, but Seamus acknowledged to himself that he shouldn't be quite as lazy, and he could stand to get some kind of exercise.

"More sex!" he said into the empty air, which didn't contradict him.

Eventually he got their foodstuffs and other sundries packed up and cast a shrinking spell on the hamper. Once at his motorbike, he strapped it on to the back of Seth, undid the special locking charm he'd put on it that he'd actually purchased from a special branch at Gringott's, and eased into his seat. The bike purred contentedly as he drove to the small centre. Dean was just finishing up, recording a fourth take of the end of a chapter when Seamus arrived. The receptionist filled him in and handed him an ear trumpet with the appropriate frequency so he could hear Dean through the aural wards. Dean was a bit of a celebrity, as he was the only blind person who chose to record books for them. He always downplayed it, but Seamus could tell that he took more than a nominal sense of personal satisfaction in what he did. Seamus had noticed that his best friend had become more introverted since the hexes he took in the War had rendered him blind, but Dean didn't often sink into despair. Seamus had every intention of keeping him physically occupied to the best of his abilities, or until his arse was too sore to sit on. Somehow he didn't think they'd ever get into that level of rough play, but they'd really not explored all that much erotic terrain.

He'd been surprised before, with Fred. Fred hadn't been punishing, but their sex hadn't exactly been tender and flowery. A physical memory of Fred kneeling behind him, using his hard cock to hit against Seamus' spread arse brushed over him like a hot breath, and goosebumps sprouted along his skin with a shiver. He came to himself, realising Dean was packing up the Braille book and his satchel. Seamus shook his head to rid himself of the remembrance, when another unbidden thought rose up. This time it was a flash of himself on hands and knees, Dean's cock sliding in and out of his mouth while Fred thrust into him again and again from behind.

"What the fuck?" he whispered in surprise, not understanding why his mind didn't seem to think it was more than enough to be in love with Dean. They'd not even shagged properly yet, and his traitorous imagination was planting him in the middle of a threesome with an ex he wasn't speaking to and this incredible man he profoundly desired. It took every bit of his self-control not to mould his body to Dean's right there in the lobby of the recording centre, but he knew Dean would be terribly uncomfortable at such a blatant affectionate display. He managed to keep his hands and lips to himself until they'd set up for their picnic, at an out of the way park with plenty of hedgerows.

With Dean's help, Seamus set up Disillusioned wards around their picnic site. Dean had ventured to ask why Seamus thought such security was necessary and Seamus kissed him deeply.

"Didn't think you'd want to be ogled in the altogether, later," he said in a way that caused a wide grin to leap onto Dean's lips.

Just then, Dean grimaced and wiped at his face. "Cobweb," he muttered.

"Ah, nature," Seamus quipped.

Dean rolled his eyes. They ate their lunch in a comfortable quiet, enjoying the sunshine as it came and went, the high clouds frolicking in the cobalt sky. A ladybird flew on to Seamus' knee while he sat cross-legged. He picked it up to play with, watching as it hurriedly scampered along his wrist and down his hand.

"What're you doing?" Dean asked, apparently noticing Seamus' mostly-still posture. He patted down around Seamus' leg to find the edge of the hamper before rooting through it for the chocolate biscuits Seamus had told him were there.

"Ladybird landed on me. 'm watching it run around. Want it?"

"Sure."

Seamus made a dome of his hand, cupping it over the red and black insect as he rested his arm against Dean's. He nudged at the ladybird and it traversed the small space until it was scurrying on Dean's skin. Dean focused his attentions off in the distance, a look of concentration on his face as the little bug wandered up his arm, flying off after a few moments.

"Describe where we are, will you?" Dean asked. He shuffled their things, patting around until he'd made sure he'd cleared a space to sprawl. He lay down on his back, his hands pillowed behind his head.

Seamus did his best, glancing about at the trees and shrubs, eventually ending his brief monologue by saying, "But the most gorgeous scenery by far is this really hot guy lying next to me." He slid down until he was on his side, allowing his fingers to trace along Dean's cheekbone and up to the short naps of his dreadlocks.

"You're full of it," Dean said fondly.

"Want to be full of you."

Dean turned his head with a chuckle. "I'd no idea you were this randy, this often."

"You inspire me," Seamus said, shrugging and wriggling until he had a leg thrown over Dean's thigh. He sowed open-mouthed kisses along Dean's jaw, leaving wet blooms in his wake. "I want you in me, want you to fuck me," he breathed into the ebony shell of Dean's ear.

"What? Here?" Dean's voice was incredulous. "Out in a park??"

"Yeah! I had a reason for setting up those wards. Now, Dean, right here, this afternoon. Don't you want to? You know how it all works," he murmured, easing a hand through the enticing gap of Dean's waistband and the plaid boxers underneath.

Dean made an appreciative rumbling noise as Seamus' fingers slid across the slight bulge of his hardening cock before slipping them in the fly of his cotton boxers. They curled around the papery skin; Seamus breathed against Dean's neck as he rocked insistently against his hip.

"C'mere, Shay." The words slid across Dean's lips before he pressed them against Seamus' mouth in a scorching kiss. He pulled Seamus on top of him and Seamus intertwined their fingers, his tongue and Dean's circling in each other's mouths. Seamus rolled his groin into Dean's, making needy whimpers as their covered erections stiffened and rubbed together.

"Clothes off, me love," Seamus said as he pulled back, breathing heavily. Dean pulled his shirt over his head and unbuttoned and unzipped his shorts while Seamus did the same. He shoved their hamper and bottles out of the way, quickly brushing crumbs off of the blanket and then realising that he needed the lube out of the picnic basket. When he turned around, he saw the faintest shadow of anxiety on Dean's face. Seamus had seen that expression before, but had been relieved when he'd pieced together that it was because they weren't touching. Dean was vulnerable now even in the most familiar of situations, much less when naked and aroused and unsure where Seamus was.

He crawled over to Dean, running his hands along Dean's legs, relishing the feeling of short, tight hairs under his fingers. Seamus felt a bit nervous, as though he'd not gone through the mechanics of this act dozens of times. But this was Dean. Blood pulsed in his hard cock like fire, tendrils of smoky desire reaching every bit of his skin where they touched.

"I think you should be behind me, this first time," he said before nibbling on the hard nipples standing sentry on Dean's chest.

Dean nodded, his hands skirting all over Seamus' body, his need for continuous contact evident. Seamus wandlessly cast an inner cleansing charm on himself, desire inflaming in his groin when he saw Dean nervously bite down on his lower lip. He pulled Dean up so that they faced one another on their knees, moaning when Dean took their pricks in hand and pulled gently.

"Want you so much," Dean said, his voice husky. "You'll let me know if I'm not doing something right?"

Seamus huffed a laugh, swaying his hips and holding onto a rounded arsecheek. "Ye'll be just fine."

The next few moments were surreal; the buzz of bees busy at work around some nearby poppies and the sussurative whispers of leaves played by the breeze were the only sounds aside from their own breathing. Seamus got on hands and knees, his back arching under Dean's hand where he braced himself, the slick sound of Dean coating his cock making Seamus' own cock twitch. Then Seamus felt the blunt head at his entrance, felt it press in slightly before sliding down his cleft as Dean let out a frustrated noise.

"'Salright," Seamus quickly reassured him. "Go again."

Dean did, more forcefully this time as Seamus pushed back against him. Dean slid past the tight ring, letting out a low, keening groan as he pressed fully into Seamus' tight channel. The burning fullness took Seamus by surprise; it had been a while, but he'd figured his body would relax as it always had.

"Fuck, Shay." The awe in Dean's tone drizzled over Seamus and he rocked a bit, the discomfort morphing into heady pleasure as he got used to the feel of Dean being buried in him.

"You feel amazing," Seamus choked out. "Move, gods, move."

"I'm not hurting—"

"No. Just do what feels good."

"You're so hot… I… oh fuck," Dean whimpered, pulling backward and pushing back in, much too timidly for Seamus' taste.

"Fuck me, Dean," Seamus rasped. "Claim me."

It didn't take long for Dean to find a rhythm, his hips snapping as he grunted, driving into Seamus' arse. Seamus pressed against the ground, his head hanging down, his nerves hot, dancing sparks centred where their bodies met. The universe spiralled in him; the squelching sound of Dean's cock was sinful as it filled him again and again. He couldn't control the broken sounds that poured out of his mouth, ratcheting up when Dean reached around him to take his bouncing prick in hand.

"Ach! Dean, fuckyesohnnnnnnrrrrrh," he babbled inarticulately, feeling the tension quickly rush past the breaking point as his release poured out of him with a wail. Dean let go of Seamus' shaft and resumed his relentless pace until he suddenly stilled, holding Seamus' hips with a grip so tight Seamus thought he'd bruise. Dean strained against him, the bristling of hair from his hanging bollocks tickling the back of Seamus' thighs. Seamus found he was holding his breath until Dean's fingers eased their hold. He drew soft arcs from the base of Seamus' spine on his back with his thumbs, as though tracing feathers of imaginary wings. He let out a ragged sigh, easing his body away so that he pulled out from Seamus, some of the warm fluid sliding down Seamus' legs.

Seamus slumped down on the blanket in a boneless heap, clenching his arse and wincing a bit at the twinge of soreness. "Wanna lie down?" he asked and Dean nodded, rubbing his shoulder against his cheek before Seamus reached up for him. The air was warm and a cloud drifted past the sun so that they were bathed in light. Seamus nestled his head against Dean's chest, wanting to ask how he felt but also wanting Dean to say something first. Dean's fingers continued to meander on Seamus' back until he rested his palm on the back side of Seamus' hip.

"So. When do we get to do that again?" Dean asked, a sly smile gliding onto his lips.

Seamus snorted, angling his head so he could kiss Dean on the side of his neck. "How does tonight after work sound?"

"Too long of a wait."

A profound gratitude wound through Seamus. "Too bad. But I'll make it up to ye."

They lay in a peaceful quiet until the stickiness from their sex got to Seamus. He asked Dean to clean them up, as his tergeo spells were more thorough than his own. When he felt himself drifting off, he forced himself up, discovering that Dean had half fallen asleep as well. Together they packed up their picnic, Seamus waiting to cast a shrinking spell on the hamper until Dean had folded up the blanket and handed it to him. The wards were dismantled and they walked the quarter mile or so to where Seamus had parked Seth, talking about the book Dean had been recording. Just before Seamus pulled up the kickstand to drive out of the small car park, Dean leaned forward, bumping their helmets.

"You felt amazing," he said, his voice muffled by the visor. "Thank you."

Seamus reached down to squeeze Dean's knee. "So'd you. It'll only get better."

"That was pretty bloody brilliant, but I trust you."

"Smart lad. Now hold on."

Seamus ignored the frowns on the face of a nearby Muggle couple pushing a pram, gunning the engine for good measure, and sped off.

* * * * *

The breakfast that Seamus wished he'd hadn't eaten roiled in his gut, making him queasy. He held his hand to his stomach as he strode through Diagon Alley, greatly relieved that he'd not seen anyone he knew. A clock mounted high on the back of the Leaky Cauldron tolled two and Seamus slowed his pace. It was ridiculous, how he felt. Hell, he'd gone into fucking battles feeling better than he did now, and all he was going to do was walk into Wheezes. Maybe Zap would be there, and he'd just ask him to let Fred know he'd stopped by. Zapateous Zonko, son of the late joke-shop owner, had begun helping out the twins even before the War, and now with George gone, Seamus was certain that he played an integral role in keeping the shop going.

There was something about the familiar storefronts and noises that put him slightly more at ease; he didn't come here all that often anymore, and seeing the still-intact shops he'd gone to since he was a young boy calmed his frayed nerves. Taking a hand out of his trousers pocket, he pulled open the door to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, glancing at the lurid cacophony in the display window. Business seemed to be going well since they'd — he'd — reopened. Good for him. It had been so packed when he and Dean had made their brief visit that Seamus hadn't really paid any attention to the actual content in the store, but it seemed as stuffed to the rafters as it ever had been. Dipping his hand into a corral with pygmy puffs, he stroked one as he looked over at the counter. No one was at the till, but he soon saw Zap chatting with a group of boys near a showcase of gibberish jellies.

Zap looked over at him, a pleasant expression on his face. Seamus wasn't surprised that he didn't recognise him; he'd not frequented the shop much before the War and only the once afterwards, along with dozens of other people.

"Can I help you find something?" he asked from across the room.

"Just wondering if Fred's in today. We went to school together."

"I'll see if he's around." Zap moved away from the cluster of boys toward a back arch above which read **Here There Be Mayhem: Weasleys Only**. He tilted his head, gave Seamus an evaluating look, and then motioned Seamus toward him. Once Seamus was at the doorway, Zap said in a hushed voice, "Today's not the best day."

Seamus wracked his mind. "It's Thursday?" he offered before his brain came up with the actual date and his stomach resumed its churning. "Oh, of course. Fuck. Oh, sorry," he apologised as Zap's eyebrows shot up at the profanity. "George."

Zapateous nodded. "He's been pretty down anyway. If you're somebody who could make him feel better…"

"I helped him out some, yeah, during the War," Seamus acknowledged in a strong voice, standing a bit straighter.

"Seamus?" Fred's voice sounded from inside the combination stockroom, office and lab. "'s that you?"

Seamus' stomachache inexplicably vanished, and instead he felt as though a band had been clamped around his heart. Fred's voice was disbelief and sorrow; Seamus had no doubt he'd been drinking.

"Yeah. Can I come back?"

"Please."

Zap patted him on the shoulder, turning to go and take care of a customer waiting not-so-patiently at the till. Once through the archway, Seamus looked around the brightly lit room, finding Fred at last among the almost-toppling piles of products and ledgers. He was back in a corner, slumped at a desk. His elbow rested on the untidy surface, his pointer and index fingers placed against his temple. Seamus couldn't stop the sharp intake of breath at seeing him again, this close, in his obviously disconsolate state. His hair was practically shorn; only a couple of inches of distinctive red stood up from his scalp. Seamus was at his side in a moment, half sitting on his lap and enfolding him in a hug. His fingers held tightly behind Fred's skull and he rocked him in silence, rubbing his face imperceptibly against Fred's neck.

Fred didn't cry or sniffle, but he grasped around Seamus' back like a drowning man to a raft. After a time Fred pressed his face against Seamus' jaw, his lips grazing Seamus' cheek before he seemed to catch himself and leaned his chin on Seamus' shoulder instead.

"Why didn't you owl?" Seamus asked.

"Because I was an arsehole."

Baffled, Seamus tried to reconcile his question about Fred's distress today and the answer he'd received. With a jolt, he realised Fred thought he was talking about their break up months ago. Fred was apologising— sort of. Or at least admitting to his definitive part in it.

"I meant today," Seamus clarified, rubbing at the base of Fred's spine before his discomfort with the ambiguity of his own feelings overtook him, and he scooted back to sit on the desktop.

"Drink?" Fred gestured at the bottle of scotch.

"Yeah."

Seamus poured himself most of a tumbler and had a hefty swallow. He had to work later, but he didn't mind some of the comforting alcohol in his veins right now. "Are you like this each month? Fuck, Fred, ye should've owled me."

It seemed like lifetimes had passed since Seamus had seen the sullen melancholy that so jarringly moulded to Fred's face. "Figured you'd send them back. You should've. I was a wanker," he said in disgust, finishing Seamus' drink.

"You did act like rather a prick," Seamus agreed, sending out a hand to brush over the silky soft hair, so short Fred looked nearly alien. "Ye shouldn't have been embarrassed of me. I'm a great guy, y'know."

"Wasn't you. Thought I could go it alone, thought you'd want to be with somebody else, a better match."

"A better match?!" Seamus exclaimed. The feelings he'd had of his dignity and affection being stomped on by this man who had said Seamus meant the world to him — he, Seamus, had meant the world to someone he respected and admired and who also loved his body — came flooding back in a dangerous current.

"I would've done bloody anything for you," Seamus went on, leaning in closely, the old bewildered anger crashing through him as he spun his leather armband in irritation.

"I know you would've. I'm sorry. Truly, I am." Fred reached over and took Seamus' busy hand, pulling it into his lap and intertwining their fingers together. The back of Seamus' knuckles were poised on Fred's groin, and while he wasn't aroused, the proximity sent conflicting messages ricocheting through Seamus' mind. He was only comforting Fred, and he'd really not thought about what day it was, but he felt guilty nonetheless. He could only be in such a state if he still had lingering feelings, right? He wished fervently that his life were simpler. Why in bloody hell couldn't he move on, especially when he was passionately involved with Dean? _"Dean's who you're with, who treats you like a bloody treasure,"_ he reminded himself when Fred's next words threw him into turmoil.

"Seamus, would you take me back?"

Seamus gaped, fish-like, as Fred continued to caress his fingers and the back of his hand.

"No, that was a stupid question," Fred said, his voice leaden. "Of course you're over me. I didn't even firecall, owl, nothing. But you did come to the re-opening. You and Dean. Thanks for that."

"I'm…" Seamus started, his mind a whirlwind and his heart flummoxed. "I'm with Dean now. Boyfriends, like." He knew Dean would absolutely kill him if he'd heard that, but under the circumstances, Seamus was proud of himself for getting out fully-formed sentences at all.

"Dean?" Fred's brow knit and he looked up, now idly stroking at Seamus' armband, nudging his fingers underneath it. "Didn't think he was queer."

"He's not. Well, he is, if it's me," Seamus said, wondering why his arm hadn't moved away from Fred's pitiful ministrations. "It's really good. He's brilliant. He _loves_ me," he said with emphasis, hoping that would snap Fred out of his nonverbal pleading that was putting Seamus on edge.

"I never said it, but I did, too."

Seamus decided he'd had enough. "You had a miserable way of showing it," he seethed, yanking his arm away and pouring himself another helping of scotch. "I don't know what you're on about here, but it stops, now. You know I'm sorry about George. You knew that months ago. You're too late, Fred," he said less savagely, the venom having poured quickly out of him. "I'm with Dean. He makes me happy. I'm really bloody special to him _and he tells me so_."

Seamus felt vindicated at being able to say such words, but any triumph turned to dust on his tongue. Fred didn't cry, his lips didn't tremble. His expression was one of someone utterly beaten, as though the last shred of joviality and wicked fire that had burned in him had been doused, the ashes scattered to the wind.

"You deserve that," he said dully.

"Yeah, I do," Seamus agreed as his compassion flared back to life. No matter how much of a prick Fred had been, there was something clever and compelling about him that had burrowed under Seamus' skin, for good, apparently. "So do you. You'll find someone." He drank the alcohol, recognising that he needed to stop since he had work in an hour and a half.

Fred made a contemptuous noise.

"Look." Seamus' exasperation began to resurrect itself. "If ye thought I was so fantastic, why'd you not keep up after the War? At all? I'm not sorry that Dean and I are together— wouldn't trade it for the world." An uncomfortable acknowledgement of that being only 99.999% of the truth twinged in his chest. "Still. Why'd you stay so distant?"

Fred snorted derisively, beginning to pour himself some more scotch when Seamus placed his hand on top of Fred's. "Think ye've had enough. For now," Seamus suggested.

"Guess so. Why, eh? I guess I wasn't ready to need you. Or anybody. Didn't want to. So I acted like a bastard."

"Stop beating on yourself. It's getting old."

Fred leaned his head, his face impassive. Seamus had been shocked at first at the level of emotional anguish and rage that Fred had showed him in those first few days after George's death, and how calculated and ruthless he'd become. War changed people, however. Nobody escaped unscathed. Fred's push and pull of being enigmatic and yet seeming still to want Seamus so much was distracting; that Seamus had apparently dreamed about Fred and had that inexplicable thought of the three of them together only made him feel as though he was betraying Dean. That thought caused a frisson of hot shame to sear through him, even though he'd not done anything. He cared deeply for Fred, in spite of himself, but that wasn't necessarily troublesome.

"You're right," Fred said at last, laying his head down uninvited onto Seamus' lap. "I know you're taken, don't remind me," he muttered before Seamus could open his mouth in protest. "I'm not doing anything to break you up. You're comforting, and it's been a shitty day. I'm so glad you came by. I'd like to go out with you sometime, y'know, have a few drinks, just be blokes having a good time," he said into the curve of Seamus' denim-clad thigh.

Like a moth to flame, Seamus found himself rubbing his fingers through the near-barren terrain of Fred's hair. He did want to make Fred feel better, just not in ways that involved them being naked. That really was out of the question, no matter what his faithless cock thought of the idea.

"You and Dean, of course."

Seamus squinched up his face, thinking about how poorly that would go over. "Don't think he's that fond of you, after your treatment 'o me."

Fred rolled his shoulders slightly. "Am I allowed to do better, now? Will you at least give me a chance to be your mate?"

Stilling his fingers against the pale furrow where a hex had grazed Fred's scalp, Seamus gave in. Life had been pretty good to him, all things considered. Fred-as-martyr made the world seem unstable, and Seamus could do without that. "Yeah, I s'pose that's all right. Why don't you get upstairs to your flat and have a lie-down. If ye'd like, come by the Dove later tonight; I'll be working."

Raising his head, Fred gave him a look of gratitude. "Really? That'd be okay?"

"Yeah. I'll shout you a round." Seamus quickly went through how much time had passed since he'd demanded to be partnered with Fred those last few agonizing months of the War. "Fourteen months?"

"Yes."

Seamus felt pity wash through him. "Tell me you're not like this on the 23rd of every month, are you?"

Fred shook his head, sitting back in his chair. He stretched out his hands and fingers, the palms pressed together and knuckles popping. "No. Not sure why it hit me so hard today, it just did. But you showed up," he said, a tiny glimmer in his eyes before it left as fleetingly as it had appeared.

"Ach, that I did. And now I've got to run a couple of errands before work. Take care of yerself, hear?" He eased off of the desk, rubbing a bit awkwardly at Fred's shoulder.

"I will."

As he made his way back out to the bustling cobblestone way of Diagon Alley, he turned to acknowledge Zap in a passing goodbye. The reedy young man raised his eyebrows in question.

"He'll be all right," Seamus said loud enough to be heard as he pushed open the door.

"Thanks!"

Seamus waved in response. As he roamed through the Apothecary, looking for a phial of tea tree oil, he found his thoughts wandering back to the brief but intense time he'd spent as Fred's lover. Maybe if he could pinpoint what it was about him that he found so compelling, he could then let go of it absolutely. His niggling fantasy aside, people just didn't go off into the sunset with two companions, they were in pairs. Or solo. He picked up a small jar of aloe-infused salve and sniffed at it, but placed it back on the shelf. It was ridiculous for him to be buying a gift of massage oil for Dean while thinking about Fred, but his bollocky mind wouldn't get out of its rut of wondering how to help Fred recover. Why did he suddenly think it was his responsibility to try and resurrect the passionate, irreverent, rebellious and defiantly unique man he'd fallen for without a backward glance? Especially now that he was so contentedly intertwined with Dean, the most secure and integral relationship he'd ever had, aside from the one with his mam. Another phial caught his eye, the tawny colour reminding him of Dean's amber eyes before he'd become blind. He took out the stopper and a loamy, cedar scent drifted up to him. With a satisfied sigh, he closed it and took it up to the clerk. He could already imagine how surprised and hopefully appreciative Dean would be, especially after Seamus got his hands on him. He'd give Dean a proper rub-down, for sure, at least until it segued into more erotic activities. Of that Seamus had no doubt.

Back at their flat, he distracted himself with decadence, enjoying both some dark chocolate and an all-too-quick thumbing through of the newest issue of _Un-Robed!_ before he had to rush off to work. He left an innocuous Howler for Dean, saying he hoped he'd had a good day, that things had gone fine at Wheezes, and that he had a present for him when he got home. As he threw in the Floo powder, he wondered if he should've left the gift, but then decided his instinct of having Dean unwrap it with Seamus there was the right one. There was a faint pang in his chest at not having seen Dean since the early morning, but then he told himself he was a bloody sap and to stop mooning like a girl.


	5. Chapter 5

  
"Oh Dean, you won't believe this!" Seamus cradled the recently-owled gift from Ron and Harry in his hands before passing it over.

"Is it a picture?" Dean asked, running his fingers along the simple cobalt frame.

"Yeah."

Seamus couldn't take his eyes off of it, the figures obviously engrossed in each other. Harry had managed to take a photograph when he'd been sitting in Dean's lap in the Jacuzzi that day they'd gone over for the afternoon— and evening, and night. They looked only at each other, kissing softly as Seamus' hands rubbed the back of Dean's head. Seamus knew he couldn't give proper voice to describe the print to Dean, limited to mere words to express just how content they looked.

"What's it of?" Dean asked as he handed it back. "Not Ron starkers, surely!"

"No, it's us. When we were at their place. In the Jacuzzi," he said, his voice softening as he watched their picture-selves, oblivious to anything except for each other.

"Oh." Dean's face relaxed and a warm smile settled on his lips. "Guess he was spying on us from inside the house."

"Ach, not spying," Seamus chided, giving Dean a swat on the arse. "Just taking a picture when we didn't know. I'm glad. Seems much more natural that way."

"If you say so. Are you going to put it on the desk?"

"Reckon so."

After a few months now of being both lovers and flatmates, they'd sold Seamus' bed to some Muggle neighbours a couple of buildings down the road and officially christened Dean's bedroom as their bedroom. Seamus' former bedroom had now become their study and catch-all room, though Seamus did make a conscious effort to keep it reasonably tidy, for Dean's sake and safety.

"Fred's invited us to go see the Green Knights— I said I thought we'd want to go. Sound good? They're playing Ballycastle."

Dean paused on his way to the refrigerator, tilting his head. "Yeah, I s'pose that'd be fun. Not been to a match in ages."

"Great. I'll owl him and let him know."

Seamus let out a breath he'd not realised he'd been holding. He and Dean had been meeting up with Fred, and sometimes Ron and Harry as well, over the past few weeks. Dean appeared convinced that Fred really wasn't going to try and move back in on Seamus, but in the dark recesses of his heart, Seamus believed that Fred would quickly and determinedly get back together with him given the opportunity. The three of them had an easy, if occasionally tense rapport when Dean's jealousy manifested itself. It was worth the awkwardness to Seamus, seeing glimpses of the Fred he'd trusted with his life during the War. More importantly, Fred hadn't been at all as morose as he'd been that first time they'd reconnected at Wheezes. And in ways that Seamus couldn't explain, and didn't even try — especially not to himself — he felt that their being together was inherently _right_. All three of them: Fred surviving without his twin, Dean coping without his sight, and Seamus… Well, he just knew somehow that he belonged to them both, equally. Beyond the occasional daydream of the erotic way that could manifest itself, every once in a while he caught himself imagining the three of them sharing breakfast, or two motorbikes parked next to each other in a small garage.

"I was thinking of having a lie-down outside. Join me? And maybe bring a couple of sandwiches?" Dean asked with a cheeky grin, two ales in hand. He'd become an ebony god to Seamus' eyes, so dark from his sunbathing, and so often clad in the arousingly small pair of Speedos he'd been so set against at first. Wizarding London was complaining about the heat wave, if their constant jabbering about it on the Wireless was any indication, but Seamus and Dean had no complaints.

"Yeah. I'll make a couple of cheese and tomatoes and get our towels."

"I can get them."

"Okay."

A few minutes later, Seamus took out the plate with the sandwich halves artistically arranged. There was something about being a bartender that brought out his need to constantly tidy the surfaces around him, as well as paying close attention to how things looked when served. Dean was standing behind his lounge chair, face up and eyes closed, figuring out where the sun was in the sky.

"I'll just put these on the table. The umbrella's open, don't forget."

"I won't."

Back inside, Seamus padded to their room and put on his own pair of swim trunks. They weren't quite as revealing as Dean's, but he also wasn't in it for the sun; it was the company. He'd been a bit inconsistent with some of his sunblock charms, and his usual smattering of freckles had transformed into skin that was now a bronze colour. His hair had lightened, too, much closer to true blond than he could ever remember. He rummaged through a drawer in the small chest on his side of the bed and found his pack of cigarettes before going back outside to the porch. Dean was rubbing coconut tanning oil on his arms, his legs straddling his chair. Seamus plopped down next to him on his own chaise, sniffing eagerly at the scent of warm Dean skin. He lit his cigarette with an _Incendio_ and took a deep drag before opening one of the ales.

"I'll have one of those," Dean said, holding out his pointer and index fingers in a vee shape.

"They'll stunt yer growth," Seamus said, imitating his late mam.

"Too late. Thanks."

Seamus looked over at Dean, noting his neutral expression. He wondered if Dean was keenly feeling left out of things, being relatively isolated and not really having a large choice of careers anymore. The Phoenix Fund monies sent to him each month for being an injured veteran were certainly enough to live on; that wasn't it. Seamus worried about him feeling that he was unnecessary, or a bother. He'd known Dean practically all of his life, and knew that while Dean had never been the most career-driven bloke around, he'd never planned to spend his life lounging about— especially not with the limitations imposed on him by his blindness.

Dean stretched out one leg, pulling up the other to form a long, sleek angle, the corded muscles of his calf a glistening rampart. He'd put on sunglasses; the hexes had done all sorts of nerve damage and now his eyes were overly sensitive to light though he couldn't see. Even from this close distance, however, Dean seemed flawless. All of a sudden, inspiration struck Seamus like a Bludger.

"I really miss flying." "You should be a model!"

Their tandem sentences tumbled over each other. It took Seamus a few seconds to figure out what he'd said on top of Dean as Dean did the same.

"Yeah, right," Dean snorted dismissively.

"No, I'm serious! With those glasses on, or any dark glasses, no one would know about your eyes. You've really got the body for it," Seamus rushed on before taking a pull on his cigarette. "But the flying thing— you should've said something sooner. We can do that together, you sitting behind me. Like on Seth. Or if ye wanted, you could be on your own broom, and I'll put a binding spell of some sort on it so you'd fly behind me, at a distance."

"You're not the best flyer, Shay," Dean said, his voice apologetic. "Nothing against you, and I'd trust you, it's not that, but…"

Another plan sprang into Seamus' head, derailing his other line of thought. "Fred!"

"Fred what?"

"Fred. He's brilliant on a broom. He could take you."

Dean turned his head towards Seamus. "Are you mad? I remember _exactly_ how he flies. He's insane!"

"Exactly!" Seamus smiled so widely his cheeks hurt. "But he'd never let anything happen to you. Flying behind Fred Weasley, that'd get your blood going, for sure."

Dean sat for a moment, finally taking another drag from his cigarette.

"That's almost out, by the way," Seamus said.

"Ta." Dean stretched out his hand for Seamus to take and stub it out. He appeared to consider Seamus' comment as he tapped on the flat plane of his stomach. "All right. But I'll be the one to ask him."

"Okay."

Seamus found himself suddenly famished. He took one of the sandwich halves and tucked into it, washing it down with a good third of his ale. Dean, too, helped himself to their lunch, until they were both full and dozed off in the warm afternoon sun.

* * * * *

A few days later, Seamus walked distractedly around the flat, discombobulated and cheesed off at himself for not having any focus. He'd spent the better part of two hours cleaning and oiling Seth, working on him in the small garden out back of their flat block. It was comforting, working on his bike. He'd never been much of one for flying, as Dean had pointed out, so he'd not spent hours polishing and trimming a broom or anything like that. He was from a long line of wizards, but he had cousins who were far more integrated into the Muggle world and he'd picked up a lot about their culture when he was growing up. Brooms and fireplaces were boring ways to travel he'd always reckoned, but motorcycles and aeroplanes were fucking brilliant.

"A flying motorcycle, now that'd be bloody unreal," he mused under his breath as he put the top on the tube of toothpaste, smearing some of the white stickiness off onto his shorts.

A thunder of clomping feet on the stairs shook Seamus from his reverie. Dean wasn't usually that noisy, which could only mean—

"We're home!" Dean yelled, the carefree words bouncing into the air.

Seamus hurriedly walked to the living room and saw Fred shutting the door behind him. Dean was swaggering; his body gave off an aura of cocky satisfaction that caused jealousy to spike through Seamus for a moment. From the scent wafting from them, Dean and Fred had gone to a pub after their aerial outing, or perhaps just back to Wheezes.

"No shite," Seamus said, running a hand down Dean's bicep as he passed so he'd know where Seamus was. "Smells as though you two've had a good time, and not just flying. Don't mind if I join ye," he announced as he walked the few paces to greet Fred. He sat perched on the arm of the couch, looking both uncomfortable but also as though he really hoped he wouldn't be asked to leave.

"Thanks for taking Dean out," Seamus said gratefully, pulling Fred up to give him a hug. "Both the flying and…"

"We went to the practise area by Ron and Harry's and flew all over. Fred was great, and scared me shitless," Dean enthused, reaching into the fridge to get two Skullsplitters. "Fred?" he asked, hefting one up so it could be seen.

"Yeah, thanks," Fred replied, giving Seamus a squeeze that allowed his hands to curl into the top of Seamus' arse. "It was good fun, honestly." Fred drew back, tugging up his denims which had begun sliding down his hips.

Seamus frowned. "You need to eat more. Both of you," he grumbled.

Fred's raised eyebrows and quirked smile made a flush bloom in Seamus' chest and quickly spiral down to his quiescent cock. "But you like skinny guys," he said provocatively as Dean walked up, holding out the ale in Fred's direction until he took it.

"So you two thought you'd go have a big time on Fred's broom then go drinking without me? I'm insulted!" Seamus said, infusing false drama into his voice and glossing over Fred's last comment. He pouted for effect until Dean waved his arm for Seamus to get near him. Dean pulled Seamus tightly against his torso, draping his arms down Seamus' back.

"Poor Fred had to deal with a bloody hard-on at his backside there for a bit," he said in a voice barely loud enough to Seamus to hear him, his sultry voice sending tendrils of desire to Seamus' increasingly interested prick. "No reason for it, but there y'go. I've been thinking of you ever since, Shay. Want you bent over the table while I'm so deep and hard inside of you…"

Seamus let out a strangled half-laugh at being seduced so outright, and as though Fred weren't there. Dean's commentary sounded absolutely fantastic, but they weren't alone. Seamus didn't like how Dean was being so blatant around Fred, who probably felt like a third wheel, and a flat tyre at that. The whole situation wasn't at all kind to him, and Seamus felt a wave of resentment at Dean's purposeful insensitivity. Despite that, he found himself saying, "Later," and giving Dean a hard pinch on the bum before easing out of his embrace.

"Well! You two obviously want to be alone," Fred said, his forced bravado a brittle glass between them.

"No, no. You don't need to go yet," Seamus insisted. "I'm just going to get a whiskey and you can tell us what ye're working on at Wheezes."

Fred made a noncommittal noise, but he followed Seamus into the kitchen, much to Seamus' surprise. "I'm hungry," he said with a shrug.

"Don't know as I have that much worth eating right now, but you're welcome to what's here," Seamus said, gesturing vaguely at the refrigerator and pantry.

"Thanks."

Fred made a show of glancing at some leftover grilled chicken and a bowl of potato salad before opening a bag of coriander crisps. Seamus poured himself a shot of firewhiskey and tossed it back. He poured himself a proper glass before crossing his arms and looking evenly at Fred.

"Peel me an orange, will you?" Dean called, sitting down on the couch.

"Sure." Seamus pursed his lips, then lifted an orange from the bowl, jabbing at the rind with his thumb.

"I really should be going," Fred said quietly.

"Why?"

"Because you two belong together, and I'm on the outside. It's to be expected. But I don't like having my nose rubbed in it." He shoved his large freckled hand savagely into the bag.

"Jes' give him some time," Seamus said in a hushed tone after a few moments had passed. "We've been best mates forever, or close enough, and he knows better than anyone how I was after you and I split. He doesn't trust you, yet." A collection of orange strips littered the counter and Seamus swept them into a neat pile before getting a small plate out of the cupboard.

"I'll just have to convince him to, then," Fred said, his words low and decisive. Determination gleamed in the brown depths of his eyes. "Even if we're nothing more than friends, I'm not letting you go again."

Bittersweet thanks bubbled up through Seamus. Fred didn't compromise on anything— in his own mind-boggling way, he'd issued a challenge, though it wasn't to Seamus. In a fit of panic, Seamus realised he didn't know how Dean would react.

"Thanks," Seamus said, impetuously grabbing behind Fred's head and kissing him hard, but chastely on the lips. "It'll all work out."

He walked a few steps out of the kitchen before turning around to retrieve his drink. "You coming?"

"Yeah, but I reckon I'll be heading home. Dean obviously has plans. I don't begrudge you," he said loudly enough for Dean to hear. He strode through the living room to stand behind Dean, placing his hands on his shoulders. "Flying does that to me too, sometimes."

"It was great to get out, and up in the wind," Dean said warmly. He didn't turn around, but he tapped his fingers on top of Fred's.

"I'd like to do it again, soon. Just take it easy, okay?" Fred glanced at Seamus, who'd opted to sit in a chair near the couch and had guzzled half of his firewhiskey.

"What d'you mean?" Dean's voice was edged with suspicion and Seamus found he wanted to shake him.

"He's yours. I know. I'm actually making a conscious attempt not to be an arsehole, and I'd appreciate you cutting me some slack. That's all."

Seamus stared at Fred then down at Dean. His expression was guardedly neutral until it transformed into something Seamus hadn't seen in ages: grudging respect.

"I can do that. Send me a Howler next time you're bored and if I'm not at the Auralibris, I'll come by the shop."

"Will do. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon."

Seamus couldn't tear his eyes away from Fred as he downed the rest of his ale, taking the empty bottle to the kitchen before heading to the front door. There was something less severe about him, unrelated to the barrier he'd managed to erect with his last few words. Seamus wondered to himself whether Fred wouldn't go out to some club tonight and fuck some anonymous bloke senseless, knowing he and Dean would be shagging for at least part of the evening. When Fred rubbed at the scar on his scalp, the difference danced blatantly into Seamus' awareness; Fred was letting his hair grow out.

"Bye Fred," Dean said through a mouthful of orange slice as he heard the door open.

"See you," Seamus echoed with a flimsy wave.

A heavy silence permeated the air as the door shut. Never one to self-censor, especially when drinking, Seamus blurted out, "Why were you being such a prick?"

"When?" Dean shot back, feeling around a slab of orange to pick off the clinging white veins.

"When you first got back here. I mean, yeah, I'm all for us having a tumble, but ye didn't need to be so bloody in your face about it in front of Fred." He swallowed the last of the firewhiskey, licking at his teeth as the burn seeped down through his chest.

"Fred's perfectly capable of finding somebody to shag. He and George weren't bad-looking or anything. Probably do him a load of good to pull some guys. Or get involved with someone. And besides, it's not like he doesn't know we're—"

"I know he knows, Dean," Seamus interrupted, _Accio_ 'ing first his wand and then the bottle of firewhiskey to pour himself another drink. "It's still rude."

"Fine! I'm sorry, okay?" Dean growled, picking at yet another orange slice, and not looking very apologetic. "I did mean it about the flying, though. It was a real rush, holding on for dear life. Nearly pissed in my pants more than once. Just made me want you, though. C'mere?" he asked plaintively, his expression so needy and irresistible that Seamus' thin wall of resistance crumbled into a heap.

"Yeah, all right."

After putting his glass on the table, Seamus took Dean's plate and encouraged him to stretch out on his back. Seamus lay down on top of him, sliding his hands underneath the wings of Dean's shoulder blades before easing his mouth against the soft expanse of Dean's lips. A dam broke in Seamus as their tongues tangled, a torrent of aching and heartbreak, of yearning and loyalty forever bruised on his heart. He wanted his body to bring together the people he loved, not force them apart. A memory of Fred, his long hair like a shaggy mane, leapt to mind, but Seamus pushed it aside. That was past, and this reality quickly consumed him. He wished Dean could see just how much Seamus wanted to drown in him, be filled up with him; Dean's cock and breath and moodiness and rapture. He rutted against Dean, their erections rubbing and grinding in a wordless language whose vocabulary was only need and friction and _more_.

"What'd you say about the table?" he gasped, breaking away from their kiss, chest heaving.

"Said I wanted to bend you over it," Dean said, breathing heavily. "But will that hurt you? I'd never want to do that."

"I'll be fine," Seamus reassured him. "But I'll need something to stand on," he said with chagrin. "Ye're too bloody tall."

"Oh Shay," Dean murmured, a long finger caressing the sweaty matted hair at Seamus' temple. "I just want to fucking worship you sometimes, y'know? I'd paint you, but I can't. But this…" He slid both hands down to grasp firmly at Seamus' covered arsecheeks, pulling them apart to nudge his thumbs down the cleft, making Seamus moan at the contact. "This I want to be an expert in. You've got to tell me what feels good, what I can do so you think you'll bloody explode."

Seamus made an inarticulate, growling cry. "I'm not good that that. Just get up, get undressed, put some lube on that gorgeous cock of yours and push into me. Okay?" He wasn't even embarrassed at the faint tremor in his voice, or the wet forming at the edges of his eyes.

"Gods, yes," Dean said, claiming Seamus' mouth with a sloppiness borne of desperation.

After one or two other abortive attempts to get off the couch, Seamus decided to remedy the fact that they were still dressed and Dean wasn't pounding into him.

"Change of plans," he panted. He leaned over, arm flapping against the table until he picked up his wand, and cast three spells in quick succession. The banishing spell took care of their clothes, though Seamus spared a passing thought to where in the flat they might end up; the engorging charm widened the couch, causing the coffee table to bump noisily across the floor, leaving marks on the wood; and the cleansing spell caused a tingling warmth to trickle from deep inside his body to the end of his clenching muscle. "You choose the lube," he said before licking and sucking on the side of Dean's neck, wishing the marks that he made would show up against the ebony skin.

"Accio Sylvester's!" Dean rumbled, agilely capturing the tube of slick when it came soaring into the room. "What're you up to?"

"Gonna ride ye," Seamus said, waggling his eyebrows even though Dean wouldn't see the gesture.

"Oh fuck. You're so hot." Dean passed the lubricant into his right hand, unscrewing the top and pouring a generous dollop into the palm of his dominant left hand.

"You inspire me." Seamus' pulse thundered in his head, his whole body throbbing in time with the staccato of his racing heart. He greased up two of his fingers, sitting back on his heels before pressing them into his grasping channel. "Ye always feel so good," he crooned, rubbing the slight swell of his belly against the shining pole of Dean's shaft.

"Put me in you," Dean said raggedly.

Seamus complied, rising up and placing the purpled head peeking out from its foreskin at his entrance. He eased down, letting his body adjust, basking in the resonant guttural sounds pouring from Dean's mouth. A stray thought to a picture he'd seen in his History of Magic text when he'd been shaken awake, a damp puddle where he'd been drooling, came to Seamus as he was fully seated on Dean. It was of an axis mundi, a line spanning heavenward from earth. As their bodies jostled through an awkward, arrhythmic series of thrusts and pushing, Seamus imagined Dean's cock being that connection, of him being speared again and again by this body part that frankly had a mind of its own and seemed most content when arching up toward the sky.

"Am I doing okay?" Dean asked, his hands clutching onto Seamus' hips and his feet planted on the couch. He was straining, their bodies more at odds than anything else.

"Yeah. Here, scoot up so you're sitting up more like," Seamus suggested.

With some manoeuvring, Dean could lean back against the armrest and Seamus had leverage to rock his hips with a speed he wanted. Dean followed suit, snapping up with relentless thrusts as their joined bodies fell into a pattern ancient and ceaseless as waves hitting the shore. The sound of slapping skin and groans was lust-driven chamber music, intimate and rising in tone as the tension in each of them built. The burning had transformed to sublime fullness, Seamus' arse being ploughed as his bollocks smacked against the wiry hairs at Dean's groin. When Seamus began pulling on his own cock, his release reared up, seeming to spread from the base of his spine and shuddering outwards as his come made glistening smears on Dean's abdomen. His broken cries were punctuated as Dean continued driving unflaggingly into Seamus until he came, his orgasm causing ripples on his torso as his muscles contracted and heaved.

Seamus felt as though he'd just completed a sprint, his lungs burning and blood roaring in his ears. Everything was a bit fuzzy around the edges as though the world itself needed to catch up from the bliss where he'd just been. Dean, too, seemed in his own reality, the bruising hold on Seamus' hips at last loosening as Dean sank back against the couch, relaxing his arse and thighs.

"You're fucking amazing," Dean said, the reverent words said gently as floating dandelion wisps. "I never really knew sex could be like this. Never was, before."

"Ye weren't with me," Seamus joked, squeezing his inner muscles, knowing he'd be a bit sore given their enthusiasm.

"True enough."

Leaning down to place a quick kiss on Dean's lips, Seamus eased his body off of Dean's, sprawling on top of him after Dean moved his softening cock back between his thighs. Dean cast a _Terego_ as Seamus settled down, boneless and sated. He wished he could capture the moments like this, hoard them away in a cherished container to be relived when disappointment and monotony were bound to strike. With an inward sigh, he felt his mind becoming preoccupied with its usual catalogue of things he should be doing, rather than simply enjoying being with Dean, naked and totally satisfied.

"Should I think about dinner?" Dean asked, his lush finger pads drawing fanciful patterns on Seamus' sweat-slicked back.

"Too hot," Seamus sulked. "We've got that potato salad, and some sliced meats that're still good. D'you want me to read some more of _Fang and Fury_?"

Harry of all people had recommended this multi-book series with werewolves and vampires and absolutely outrageous plots. Some of it caused Dean and him to laugh aloud at its implausibility, but other parts were quite intriguing. They'd grown really fond of a couple of the more handsome of the Packmates who seemed to have definite feelings for one another, though none of it was explicit. They sometimes made up their own scenes, playing off of each other and half-pretending to be the characters. Both Seamus and Dean seemed to have inborn skills as amateur pornographers, and around each other, they truly had no shame.

"Yeah. Hand me my pants, will you? When you get up?"

"Course. Oh, um, I'm not sure where they were Banished to."

Dean huffed a small laugh. "Guess I'll get a clean pair."

_It mightn't be the most conventionally exotic life_ , Seamus thought to himself a while later, reading aloud with Dean's feet in his lap, _but it suits_. He gave a passing thought to his mam, wishing she could know about his happiness. Soon, however, he was drawn back into the lives of an ill-fated pair— as everyone knows that a werewolf falling for a vampire is bound to be tragic— reading the story to his lover with relish.


	6. Chapter 6

  
Author's notes: **Chapter notes:** Seamus' accident is directly inspired by a scene relatively early in the movie [A Home at the End of the World](http://wip.warnerbros.com/ahome/) (link has music, just so you're warned!)  


* * *

Clicks and shuttering whirrs sounded in rapid-fire succession before there would be a pause. Harry wandered about, finding a new angle, asking Dean to move in this manner or that, or affect a different pose, and the clicking began again.

"You really are a natural at this," Harry enthused.

Seamus nodded his head in assent. Though Dean had on a very modern-looking, super dark strip of sunglasses, Seamus could tell he'd rolled his eyes.

"You really think I'll end up with some kind of paycheque after this?" Dean scoffed.

"Yes! I do! Now pretend that this amazingly sexy guy has just walked past with denims so tight you can see his religion, broad shoulders, strong arms…"

Dean cocked his head and gave a lopsided smirk. "Harry, I'm not into blokes on the whole. Thought we'd covered this. I'm into Shay."

"And it'd take some imagination to see me looking like that!" Seamus laughed, grateful that a more warm expression had settled onto Dean's features. "Besides, I thought you were going to send these to that clothing bloke, not off to the guys who made _Aurors in Love_ or whatever that porn flick was we watched ages ago."

"I am!" Harry continued his pacing, suggesting Dean drape his towel around his neck, or lounge back, looking off into the distance, even hook his thumb under the racing suit to tug it down past his hip.

A profound gratitude to Harry for being so gung ho about his idea came over Seamus. Dean had been truly reluctant about posing in front of a camera, even if it was one of their friends behind the lens, especially since he'd never be able to see the pictures himself. Harry had been the one to talk Dean into one photo shoot, saying all the kinds of things that Seamus could've said that sounded so different when out of somebody else's mouth.

"Hey Seamus— want to do a little posing with him?"

Seamus fidgeted with his armband. "Don't think so; I'm not fit like he is. It's one thing if it's just a casual picture, and thanks again for that one you took when we first visited."

"No worries." Harry lowered the camera, giving Seamus a wide, commiserative smile. His obvious happiness at Seamus and Dean's relationship nudged Seamus' lingering guilt about how uncharitably he'd thought of Harry and Ron until recently. "Still. I'd like to take a few of the two of you together. You've already got your suit on; just shuck the shirt and shoes."

"Oh, all right. But not many, and then I'm getting into the pool."

"I'll second that," Dean said, starting to dab at his neck until Harry yelled at him to stop.

"You're supposed to be glistening," he said cheekily.

"These photos aren't going anywhere if I'm in them," Seamus said firmly, stepping over and standing next to Dean, uncertain what to do.

"These're candids. Just talk, or snog, or something," Harry said with a shrug, pulling the camera back up to his face.

Seamus leaned in to speak low into Dean's ear. "You really do look fantastic."

"Thanks. There's no way I'll ever make money doing this, though," Dean insisted, turning his face up as though hoping for a kiss.

Seamus obliged with a quick peck on the lips before trailing his fingers down and across Dean's chest. "Wouldn't rule that out, meself," he said, breathing against the sensitive shell of Dean's ear, the effect causing a slight current through his abdominal muscles.

The distinctive _crack!_ of Apparition right at the edge of the wards caused all three of them to turn their heads. When Harry saw it was Fred, he pulled his wand out of his back pocket, made a break in the wards and gestured for him to join them at the pool.

"I'm guessing that wasn't Ron," Dean said, arching up to Seamus' touch like a cat seeking attention.

"Nope. Fred."

Dressed in slacks and a long-sleeved shirt, it was obvious Fred was planning to return to Wheezes. He loped across the grass, a wide grin on his face. He slowed down his steps as he got closer to the informal photo shoot, letting out a long, low wolf whistle as he got to Harry's side.

"Damn. Dean, I'd no idea what all you'd been hiding under those various uniforms and loose jeans."

Seamus glanced down at Dean, relieved when a smug grin wandered onto his lips. Dean slid his sunglasses slightly down the bridge of his nose, shifting his hips and pulling one leg up while stretching out the other in a way obviously meant to inflame whoever was watching. It certainly did a number on Seamus, despite the fact that Dean had treated him to a pre-breakfast blowjob that morning.

"Yeah, well, the secret's out." He covered Seamus' hand with his own, splaying it on his chest and looking in the direction of Fred's voice all while Harry's camera continued to snap away. Dean took hold of Seamus' wrist, easing his hand down the slick plateau of his abdomen until the fingers skated over the edge of the low-riding suit.

Embarrassed, Seamus shook out of Dean's grasp. "I'll do lots of things, mate, but I'm not feeling up your bits or anyone else's in front of a camera."

Dean tilted his head up towards Seamus, his expression still aloof and provocative. Seconds later, Dean dropped the façade, resuming his usual easygoing manner. "'Course not. Just taking the piss. Fred, d'you reckon I've broken the camera?"

"Not at all." He walked the few steps over and squatted on the side of the chair opposite Seamus, winking at him before returning his focus to Dean. "You're not exactly my type, but if I saw a picture of you posed like you were a minute ago, I'd probably tear it out of whatever magazine I saw it in to take home."

"Seriously, Dean," Harry said, placing the camera on a tripod and adjusting the lens, "I know this might all be a bit much since you don't really think of yourself as queer or whatever. But if you wanted to give it some thought, I can guarantee that if you'd consider posing for Un-Robed, you'd make loads of blokes very, very happy."

"Bloody hell," Seamus moaned. "We've only been together a few weeks and you're already asking him to be in the buff for your porn mag—"

"It's male erotica!" Harry interjected, setting a timer on the camera and walking over with a sheepish grin on his face. "And we're taking a group shot. Smile at the camera."

"My arse," Seamus grumbled.

"I'll smile at that," Dean quipped before the shutter clicked.

"Yeah! So why've ye not asked me to be in your mag?" Seamus asked jokingly.

Harry gave him a piercing look as Fred stood up, placing his hand on Dean's shoulder and tapping a few times with his thumb.

"Didn't think you'd want to, honestly."

"Well, you're right. And I'm no beanpole, not got nice muscles like Fred, here…"

His voice trailed off as Fred made a show of beginning to roll up a shirt sleeve, making "come hither" looks at Harry and batting his eyelashes. Harry snorted, starting to dismantle the various hovering screens and putting the different parts to the camera in its carrying case.

"I need to get back to Wheezes, but I couldn't dare resist this. Glad I didn't," Fred said, reaching down to give Dean's shoulder a squeeze before putting his hands in his pockets. "Are you two busy tonight? Thought it might be fun to go to this club I've been to a few times, up in Edinburgh. You and Ron, too, if you'd like," he went on as both Harry and Seamus shook their heads.

"It's Saturday. I'm working," Seamus said regretfully. "And I'm training this new bloke that Old Man Winthrop's brought on. How's about next week? I could ask off. What do you think, Dean? You could go without me."

"No offence, but I'd rather not," he said, swinging his legs around the chair and standing up, his height made all the more noticeable given the present company. He gave the funky sunglasses to Seamus and shaded his closed eyes until Seamus found his usual sunglasses and handed them over. With a small sigh of relief, Dean turned toward Fred. "It's not you, Fred. I trust you and all, but I'd just like to have Shay around if I'm going to a new place, especially if there'll be loads of people. I don't get uptight about not being able to see when he's around."

"Ron has some St. Mungo's thingy we have to attend, otherwise I'd say yes," Harry said, closing the clasps on his camera case. "But I'll ask Ron about next week, if the offer still stands."

Seamus was having a hard time keeping the doubtless silly grin off of his face at Dean's comments. That Dean was so outspoken and seemingly comfortable in relying on him, made Seamus feel inordinately proud. In many ways he wanted nothing more than to slide his arm behind Dean's back and simply never, ever let go. The ease of it all was a buoyancy in his spirit, much like how he felt after four or five carefully-timed shots of Bitter Banshee. And yet, he felt a pang at the disappointment Fred obviously felt.

"Why don't you come over for brunch on Sunday?" Seamus suggested, spinning a ring with his family's crest on his finger. "Is that okay with you?" he belatedly asked Dean, who just snickered.

"Bit late to ask. 'Course. Love to have you over," Dean said. His stomach chose that moment to make a loud growling noise and he grimaced.

"If it's the same to you, I'd rather have you two come over to my flat. It could stand to have some new energy in it, if you know what I'm saying."

Seamus nodded slowly. "Sounds good. Are you on the Floo network?"

"Yep. The flat's called The Cleansweep. George's idea," he said, his smile rueful. "It's not public, but I'll open it for you. Eleven, then?"

Dean leaned over and picked his towel off of the chaise, tossing it over his shoulder. "Yeah. Thanks, Fred. I'll make a quiche. Seamus might help."

"Hey, I'm more than a human oven timer!" Seamus said indignantly, swatting Dean's arse.

"I'll just take my equipment inside, then I say let's get in the pool," Harry said, the camera case in one hand and the other items gliding in front of him in a neat convoy. "Sure you can't stay, Fred?"

"No, I've asked a lot of Zap over the last few months. It won't kill me to work and earn my keep. Another time, though."

Fred walked around the chair to give Seamus a hug and brisk kiss on the mouth. He moved over to Dean, opening his arms before rethinking the decision and reaching out to place his fingers gently around Dean's wrist. "I'd hug you goodbye, but that oil would do a number on my shirt," he said, squeezing Dean's arm.

"You can have two tomorrow," Dean said, turning his arm so he could intertwine their fingers for a moment. "Though I've been told that you might as well be holding on to a telephone pole as me."

"A what?"

"Muggle thing," Seamus explained. "He's full of shite. Look, we'll see you tomorrow. You'd best be hungry."

"No worries. Enjoy your Saturday. Hope the training goes well," Fred said, letting loose of Dean's hand and cupping his hands around his mouth to yell toward the house. "Oi! Harry! Will you drop the wards so I can go?"

"Sure!" Harry's voice sounded a few seconds later.

Seamus could feel the release of magic, like a sudden stillness after a breeze. Fred scanned the area, said goodbye again, and Disapparated. Another creaking noise sounded from Dean's stomach and he grinned sheepishly.

"Guess I'm hungry." He reached out a hand in a gesture Seamus well knew meant he needed to feel Seamus' proximity. Seamus interlaced their fingers, rising onto the balls of his feet to kiss the side of Dean's jaw.

"Guess we should eat, then," he replied, tugging Dean toward the small table that had his guiding stick. Dean relaxed once he could swing the thin pole in front of him, loosening his hold on Seamus' hand.

"Think I'll ask Harry to go with me to the shops," Dean mused as they got around the pool to the chairs they'd set up when they'd first arrived.

"I can get what you need," Seamus offered. "You're going to make ham and spinach quiche, yeah? I've got to go by the bottle shop anyway," he said half under his breath.

"Thanks Shay, but I want to go. You're around me all the time— you could use a break, I reckon," Dean said as he spread out his towel, his long fingers patting down the area around him.

Inexplicably, hot anger burst through Seamus like dragon's breath. He was livid at the life Dean had to live, that his one great joy had been taken from him, and that Dean had to bloody spend his life with his hands out, reaching to make sure he didn't run into something. It wasn't fair, and he had to swallow hard to keep down the bitter bile that had suddenly risen in his throat.

"I'd never want a break from you," Seamus said peevishly, though he wasn't upset at Dean. "You're me best mate. And all sorts of other things. You'd probably want to get away from me!"

"You're gone most evenings. I get enough time alone," Dean said, easing his lanky frame into the chair with a contented sigh. "Can't believe the summer's nearly over. It's been the most relaxing one I've had in years."

Seamus scooted his lounge chair closer to Dean's, hearing Harry puttering around and humming to himself through the open kitchen windows. He lay on his side, sending out his hand to trace along the soft skin of the underside of Dean's arm down to his palm. He brought Dean's hand up to kiss at whatever messages were hidden in the cross-hatches and lines there.

"It's been pretty brilliant," Seamus agreed, pressing Dean's open palm against his cheek. It seemed like an age since the days before he and Dean had jumped into this realm of both friends and lovers, though it really hadn't been but a few weeks. Being such close friends since they'd been eleven had loads to do with it, of course. The thought of them spending more time with Fred, and him being more like his old self, fanned the coals of irrepressible _right_ in Seamus. He didn't know exactly how it would work, especially since Dean was only just beginning to trust that Fred wouldn't hurt him, but somehow Seamus knew.

"I'll go check up on Harry and get us a couple of ales, okay?" he asked, releasing Dean's hand with another wet kiss to the palm.

"Sounds good. You know where to find me."

"I do. Ye're really fucking gorgeous," Seamus said throatily, rubbing his fingers into the springy naps of Dean's hair as he got up and went toward the sliding glass doors. A few purposeful steps from the house, his ankle twinged and he stumbled.

"SHITE!" he yelled as he flung out his hands, crashing into the door with his full weight as the glass shattered underneath him. He fell to the floor, eyes clenched shut. The loud ringing crash dissolved into a brittle twinkling as he slowly moved his arms.

"Shay?!" Dean's panicked cry finally registered as Seamus gingerly considered trying to sit up. He began to speak, wanting to apologise to Harry for being so bloody clumsy as to fall into his doors, to tell Dean he was just fine. Too woozy to get out the words, he raised his hand, seeing blood running in scarlet ribbons down his forearms. Harry was poised over him, his green eyes enormous, a sing-song sound coming from his lips and his fingers at Seamus' neck. He realised Harry was chanting the counter-spell to a _Sectumsempra_ before his eyes rolled back into his head and he slipped into unconsciousness.

* * * * *

Seamus' eyes snapped open. The ragged knife-edge of acute and sudden wakefulness let him know he'd been Reennervated, but with it came no instant understanding of where he was. His left hand was held by soft, caressing fingers: _Dean_. He turned his head to see him, sitting in a chair by his bed, and the sterile white walls behind him.

"You know, Seamus, I'm really all for us spending more time together," Ron's voice sounded to his right, and Seamus gingerly turned his head back in that direction, squeezing Dean's hand. "But I'd much rather keep it over at our place, not here in hospital, if it's all the same to you."

Ron stood in full Healer garb, his wand now tucked into a pocket and an amused expression on his face. "How do you feel?"

Seamus took a quick survey of himself and honestly felt fine. He ransacked his memories to figure out why he was in St. Mungo's at all, the recollection of falling full on into the sliding door rushing at him with such clarity that he winced.

"Like I usually do," he said, his voice a bit rough from disuse.

"Gods, Shay," Dean murmured, the words soaked with distress.

"I'm fine," Seamus said more insistently, pulling his hand up so he could clasp Dean's onto his chest. "Sorry about your door. And for bleeding everywhere."

"Seamus. Don't worry about the stupid door," Harry said, standing at Ron's side and placing a hand on the bedrail. "I'm just glad that you're in good spirits and feel okay."

"What even happened? I don't know why I passed out; all I did was cut my arms." He looked down, turning his arm where he remembered seeing the red streams, and saw that whomever had done the suturing spells had done an excellent job.

"No, you did more than that," Harry said quietly.

"Yeah, good thing that Harry thought as quickly as he did," Ron said. "Countering it as though you'd been hit with that curse. Brilliant." He gave a hasty but admiring look to his bondmate before looking back at Seamus. "You managed to get a shard in your neck that sliced your jugular. You would've bled to death and pretty damn fast, too."

"Oh." A chill frissoned down Seamus' spine. No wonder Harry had looked so panicked when he'd crouched over him. The irony of nearly dying due to a wonky ankle was too much for him to keep to himself. "Seems as though I was better off during the War; it's this peacetime stuff that'll be the death 'o me!"

"Not funny," Dean growled, scooting closer to the bed.

"What happened to your sense of humour?"

"Lost it when I heard that sound of breaking glass. Merlin. It was horrible. And I couldn't do a fucking thing to help you," Dean said, the self-derision in his voice enough to make even Seamus' teeth ache at the sound of it.

"That's enough of that," Seamus said sternly. "It was an accident. They happen."

"You managed to lose a fair amount of blood despite Harry's counter-curse, since you'd not been hit by one in the first place. Thankfully there's somebody else around who has both the same type of blood that you do, as well as an ambric signature pretty close to yours. Conveniently, there's no shortage of the latter, the way things have turned out."

Seamus' mind quickly jumped to the people in his particular squadron. It had been genius, really, something Hermione and Mad-Eye of all people had come up with. They'd divided up most militants in the Order by their ambric signatures rather than tactical skills, though there were, of course, some key individuals who had very particular roles to play and fell outside of the ground troops. Everyone had their own skills, but everyone suffered through the results of being hit by various curses, hexes and whatever other diabolical Dark Magic the Death Eaters could throw their way. The idea was that with similar ambric signatures, magical healing could be done much more effectively, leading to fewer people too weak or wounded to get back into battle. Seamus hadn't even known that there _were_ different blood types.

"Thanks, Dean," he said, running his thumb over the bony knuckles.

"Wasn't me. Fred did it. You've got an infusion of some of his blood in you."

"Really?" Seamus looked at Dean, who was nodding, looking both morose and a bit queasy. "Sounds unnatural."

"It's not the most orthodox healing, and we do have neutral blood that we usually use. But you'd lost a lot, and Dean was adamant that we do whatever would help you the most and be the quickest."

"Wish it could've been mine," Dean said, obviously sulking.

"Don't be like that," Seamus begged. "C'mon, let's just get me a clean bill of health, then we'll go home and I'll let you take good care of me. Okay?"

"You underwent some serious trauma, breaking through the glass like you did, even though you've recovered exceptionally well. I don't know that I want you leaving quite yet," Ron said, Harry nodding his head in agreement.

Seamus frowned, feeling the furrows above his eyebrows. "I'm not doing anybody any good here. Where is Fred, anyway?"

"He said he needed to get back to Wheezes, but that he expected his payment in the form of us still coming over tomorrow." Dean sounded as though he approved of the sentiment, which was reassuring.

With the subtlety of a waltzing hippogriff, Seamus realised he should be at work. "Fuck! Malcolm! He's probably wondering where in Hades I am!"

"No, Dean firecalled him. Don't worry," Harry said, gesturing for Seamus to lie back down.

"He said he'll see you Monday, and not to do anything bloody stupid like that again," Dean went on, a more easygoing smile settling on his lips.

"That's Old Man Winthrop for you. Thanks so much." Seamus looked beseechingly at Ron. "Please? Just do an auralic and let me get back to the flat. What time is it, anyway?"

"Six. We kept you out for a while during the transfusion. Easier on the body that way." Ron tapped the knuckles of his second and third fingers on the back of his hand, evaluating Seamus until at last he took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "Fine. Don't make me regret this."

"I won't."

Dean grudgingly let go of Seamus' hand and allowed Ron to do an in-depth auralic scan. A couple of times he made disapproving noises, but at last the faint tugging around Seamus' body stopped and Ron put his wand back in his pocket.

"All right. Hyacinth will come by in the next half hour with your dismissal paperwork. Harry, looks as though we'll be going to that dinner after all."

Harry appeared to be as enthusiastic about it as he would being asked to suck on lemons. "Good," he said unconvincingly.

"It's decent food," Ron said, placating him.

"As long as they have wine."

"No doubt."

"Thanks, Ron," Seamus said, feeling his whole body relax now that he knew he wouldn't be stuck in hospital overnight. He'd never liked St. Mungo's, and he didn't care that he did, in fact, now feel rather puny. He'd be just fine tomorrow. He and Dean could listen to a match, or listen to one of the new books in that series Harry had turned them on to, and Dean would rub at his sore arms. He'd make a firewhiskey sour or two, they'd have a good snog, and go to bed.

"Yeah. Thanks for everything," Dean echoed as Ron and Harry exited the room. He stood up and leaned over, his wide hands making sure he knew exactly where Seamus was before placing a deep, hungry kiss on Seamus' mouth.

"Mmmmmm," Seamus hummed appreciatively, closing his eyes and enjoying the warm, stale tea flavour of Dean's breath. The tea at St. Mungo's was horrible, but there wasn't much else to choose from.

"Scared me to death, Shay," Dean said quietly as he sat down again. "All I could think was what if that had happened at our place?"

"You would've gotten help. Don't be ridiculous," Seamus grumbled. "Just because you can't see doesn't mean you've lost your mind."

Dean sat, mute, and Seamus began to wonder if he'd really hurt his feelings, though that hadn't been his intent.

"You're right. It's just hard, because I couldn't see you. In my imagination, well, it was pretty awful. I got a few cuts myself for my trouble before Harry got most of the glass out of the way."

"Oh Dean." Seamus shook his head.

"Do you really feel okay? Because as trivial as it may seem, I'd like to get those few ingredients. I don't want to think about, well, what might have happened." The pulse at Dean's temple caught Seamus' eye, as well as the tension in his jaw when he clenched it for a moment.

"That's fine. Stop worrying and just hold me hand."

Seamus let his eyes close, resting while he waited for Ron's assistant to arrive. He drifted through the minutes, feeling the feathery pulse of Dean's thumb against his skin and marvelling at the thought of Fred's blood coursing through his veins.


	7. Chapter 7

"Are you sure about taking the Floo? I'm more than happy for us to take Seth." Seamus stood next to Dean, their various dishes and bottles charmed to a small size and put in the leather backpack slung across his back.

"No, the Floo is fine. I'll just crouch down on arrival. I'm used to it, whether blind or not."

Seamus smiled at the levity in Dean's voice. He'd been even more tactile than usual since they'd left St. Mungo's, which didn't bother Seamus one bit. In fact, he'd housed mountains of smug satisfaction in making as many Muggles uncomfortable as he could when they'd stopped at a couple of shops on the way home; Dean had practically poured himself into Seamus, never leaving his side. Bigotry of any kind rubbed Seamus the wrong way. His mam had raised him to believe that people were people regardless of colour or background or the gender of whom they took to bed, if anyone. There had been her one less than shining moment when she'd insisted that Harry couldn't possibly have seen You-Know-Who, but otherwise, her beliefs and open-mindedness about the multiple possibilities about what could constitute as right for a person had made a huge impression on him. While she had often said that love was blind as he'd grown up, he believed that she would have been especially fond of the phrase now that it had been made so literally true in his own life.

"You go first. I'm right behind you," Seamus said, running his palm over Dean's arse as confirmation. "Floo powder bowl's right here."

Dean scooped up a handful, threw it in, and said, "The Cleansweep!" in a clear voice. Seamus did the same, nearly toppling straight into Dean once he found himself in Fred's flat above Wheezes.

"Welcome, welcome!" Fred was saying, guiding Dean into the kitchen.

Seamus watched, gobsmacked, as Dean enfolded Fred in a crushing hug. "Thank you again, so much, for what you did for Shay," he said.

Fred looked about as shocked as Seamus felt. "It was no problem, honestly," he replied, eventually wrapping his arms around Dean's waist when it became apparent that Dean's action wasn't perfunctory. "I'll make more. Blood, that is." He winked at Seamus, who had wandered around them, pulling his bag over his head.

After a couple of pats to Dean's back, Fred eased out of Dean's arms. "I'll walk you through the place so you'll find your way around. It's not that big, of course."

"Yeah, thanks."

"Oh, Seamus? How do you fell?" Fred tilted his head, concern written on his features.

"Fine. Really," Seamus said, emphasising the last word. "I'll just get out our stuff."

"Back in a few."

Seamus busied himself, pulling out and enlarging the quiches, fruit, orange juice and bottle of vodka. He cast a heating charm on the food and was rifling through Fred's cupboards without a thought when he heard more voices in the next room than he expected. He pricked up his ears. Warily he approached what he was certain was Fred's bedroom, pausing in the doorway when he saw Fred and Dean looking at something on the wall.

"Seamus? You can come in," Fred invited.

With no small bit of trepidation, Seamus stepped over the threshold. A full-sized bed was set against the far corner, the bedcoverings a garish violet with two large lions embroidered in the middle. Aside from the vivid comforter and pillows, the rest of the room was quite tame, even severe. A beautiful mahogany chifferobe stood, closed; a matching bedside table housed a candle and picture, which from a distance seemed to be of a few members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team from early in Seamus' time at Hogwarts.

"Hi, Seamus," said a voice both familiar and disconcerting.

Seamus turned and looked at the large portrait above a chest of drawers, the painting the focus of Fred and Dean's attentions.

"Hey, George."

Seamus was really quite at a loss as to what else to say. _'How are you?'_ seemed right stupid, and anything else became even more ludicrous.

"Don't be awkward— it's really not so bad, and Fred's in here for company. Well, my Fred. You know what I mean. Fred," he said, pointing at Fred in the room, "told me about what you did yesterday. Impressive!" George's grin was infectious, even though Seamus couldn't will away the queasiness at seeing him there, lounging nonchalantly against the frame and juggling. George had always been good at that, constantly throwing small objects about in complicated patterns with seemingly no effort.

"Thanks. It's not just anyone who can trip and fall into a glass door, that's for sure."

George let out a short laugh.

"Good to talk with you," Dean said, appearing to be far less troubled at conversing with George than Seamus was.

"Oh, are you going already?" The disappointment in George's voice was palpable.

"No, I don't suppose…" Dean's voice trailed off as he glanced in Seamus' direction.

"You two stay here if ye'd like. I'll keep going with the food. And drink," he said under his breath, turning his back on the large portrait as Dean and Fred resumed their conversation with George about West Ham football, of all things.

Back in the kitchen, Seamus made himself a strong screwdriver, taking a shot first for good measure. He found his thoughts wandering to the later months of the War, when the four of them had spent a fair bit of time together in either Fred and George's tent, or his and Dean's. It had been pretty decent company, even light-hearted on rare occasion, if you overlooked the fact that they left each morning on missions from which they weren't certain they'd return. Then came the day when Fred had grabbed Seamus' arm with a grip so tight Seamus knew he'd bruised. He accidentally bit his tongue, trying not to yelp and thus giving away their cover for the intricate trap they were setting, the taste of metal soon in his mouth.

"It's George," Fred had hissed, his voice raw as though he'd been yelling. Seamus' world had tilted, careening into a tormented realm of Fred's hushed rants that they had to leave, something terrible had happened, he just knew it, which could only mean that Dean, too, had been in terrible danger…

Seamus jumped when a large hand nestled softly on his shoulder. His glass slid from his hand to the counter with a loud clatter, some of his drink tumbling over the edge when it fell.

"Easy, there." Fred's words were balm enough to tug Seamus out of his morbid reverie. Fred looked at the carton and bottle before aiming his wand at the orange slick spilled on the counter. "Great minds think alike and all that, but I'd bought champagne. Bit more celebratory."

"Variety's not a bad thing," Seamus said, shrugging. Hand trembling only slightly, he raised his glass to his lips. As he took another deep swallow of his drink, a yawning emptiness filled him despite the warm anchor of Fred's comforting hand on his shoulder. It was as though he were a nautilus, with nothing but cavernous chambers echoing their vacancy. Irritated with himself and out of sorts, he stepped away from Fred and started feeling about in his rucksack for his cigarettes.

"Seamus. I didn't mean for you to feel badly by coming here. What's going on?"

Seamus snorted derisively through his nose. "Dunno. Just gonna go and smoke a cigarette or two, calm me nerves. Think maybe I'd just not really thought about yesterday. I'm catching Dean's case of the 'what might've's', dammit." He forced a smile, but it felt horrid on his face and quickly disappeared.

"You can smoke in here, I don't mind."

Fred's concern caused itching prickles at Seamus' eyes. _Fuck._ He really did need to just get out for a few minutes. Seamus violently shook his head.

"Nope. Don't even smoke in our own flat. Love 'em, but not the lingering smell, if you know what I mean."

"Sure. Mind if I join you?"

"Nah," Seamus said, grateful beyond measure and unwilling to analyse why. "Hey Dean?" he called toward the bedroom. "Goin' out for a smoke, mate. You coming?"

"No, but thanks. You can bring me a drink before you go, though."

A genuine smile quirked Seamus' lips as he put together a less-potent drink for Dean as Fred poured himself a glass of untampered orange juice. Seamus took Dean his glass, giving him a quick caress around the curve of his hip. Dean held on to him for a moment, tilting down his head to brush a kiss across Seamus' forehead. Seamus spared a look at portrait-George, and the incomprehension stamped on his expression.

Portrait-George bit down on his lower lip before speaking. "It doesn't bother me, not really," he said, though his tone indicated otherwise. "It's just that I'd not expected you two… that Dean would…"

Dean shook his head with an easy smile. "Shay's always been there. Now there's all kinds of other brilliant things about him I get to know. And being with him's better than any wank, or a random bird."

"Ach! I'm insulted!" Seamus exclaimed, hitting Dean hard enough in the stomach that Dean made an 'oof'ing sound and nearly lost his balance. "Thought you got all randy _because_ it's me."

"Well, that's true." Dean's huffed laugh went into his glass as he took a swallow. "But that one announcer for the Green Knights, that bloke's voice is so sexy it ought to be banned."

"Right! That's it, I've heard enough," Seamus said as he went out of the room, though there was no real bite to his tone.

Fred stood in front of an open door in the back study that Seamus could've sworn hadn't been there before.

"It's a staircase to the alley. We keep it closed most of the time, but in the past especially if we thought mum or someone unsavoury was about to pop 'round, we'd head out this way."

"Unsavoury? Can't imagine you'd attract anyone who's the likes of that," Seamus said, heading behind Fred a few steps down the wide metal staircase. "This's probably far enough for me." He sank down onto the stair, gesturing for Fred to join him.

"You don't want to go to the street?" Fred asked, taking a seat next to Seamus and stretching out his legs.

"No. Rather be close by in case Dean changes his mind."

Seamus offered Fred the pack and he took out a cigarette. Once Seamus had put his in his mouth, he cast a wandless _Incendio_ , glancing over to see that Fred had done the same. They sat in a companionable silence, though after a couple of minutes Seamus tugged down his pushed-up shirtsleeves. It was much cooler than it had been recently, a soggy day, grey and rife with autumn. Seamus took a deep drag, cocking his head to look curiously at Fred, who'd laid his head on Seamus' shoulder.

"It's been great, being around you again," Fred said quietly, letting the fingers of his left hand wave against Seamus' jeans-clad calf.

"Likewise."

A tendril of smoke curled sinuously from Fred's cigarette, held loosely in his grip above his knee.

"You seeing anybody?" Seamus asked, even though he was nearly certain he knew the answer. His heart leapt guiltily when Fred made a negative grunting sound. It wasn't that he wanted Fred to be unhappy, despite how broken Seamus had been when Fred had callously let him go. He must have dragon droppings for brains to think all three of them could somehow be together. It just wasn't done; he couldn't even explain why he still cared for Fred, except that when they were together the earth seemed more solid. And with Dean at his side, sharing bed, home and heart, Seamus felt utterly unconquerable. Surely Fred cared for Dean in some way, and Dean for Fred… perhaps. He was being uncharacteristically open towards Fred today, at any rate.

"No," Fred said at last, sitting up to finish his cigarette that he then tossed to the ground below. He leaned back on his elbows on the stair behind them. "Nobody since you. Dicked around a bit, even brought a couple of guys back here. That was part of the reason why I wanted you two over. Wanted some better memories to go with the place. You don't know what a truly shitty morning is until you've woken up with some bloke in bed you barely remember, a splitting headache and out of hangover potion, and your dead twin glaring at you from out of a portrait."

That miserable image made Seamus wince. He put out his cigarette and flicked it over the stairs before turning to face Fred.

"I'm sorry," he said, instinctively raising his hand to place it on Fred's jaw. Seamus found himself leaning in, not resisting his urge to comfort Fred, and pressing a light kiss onto his chapped lips. His eyes fluttered closed, the touch lingering as only the briefest of skirmishes was fought in his conscience. Fred's imperceptible whimper shut out the rest of the world as an equally soft moan sounded in Seamus' throat and he opened his mouth. Fred's hesitant tongue met no resistance as Seamus slid his into the warm, pungent cavern, the taste of tobacco and tangy orange juice mingling as the kiss went on. It was odd and new, though a dance their mouths once had known well. The heat and intensity of Fred's neediness and want was molten desire settling in Seamus' cock. Without thinking, he brought up his other hand to cradle Fred's face as Fred's tongue plundered his mouth. Seamus felt a deep throbbing in his groin, exacerbated as Fred's hands found purchase on Seamus' head and shoulder, pulling them closer together. Constellations spun behind Seamus' eyes until they pulled apart, Fred's thin lips glistening as he licked at them. His brown eyes held longing and caution.

"What was that?" Fred asked hoarsely. "Not that I minded, Merlin, but I'd said I wouldn't—"

"You didn't. I did," Seamus admitted, his pulse racing at the unexpected intimacy joining past and present. "I. Well… I've had these thoughts. They're ridiculous. Obviously I'm shite at doing right by anyone—"

"Seamus," Fred said softly, tilting his head and kissing him with closed lips, though he suckled on Seamus' lower lip. Bolts of lust dove straight to his burgeoning erection as he forced himself away, overwhelmed at how fiercely his body was responding to even the smallest of Fred's advances.

"You've got to do right by you. I should apologise," Fred continued, using the pad of his hand to rub at the corner of his mouth. "Won't happen again."

"No. It's _my_ fault," Seamus said, frustrated at his desires and chagrined that he'd acted on them. "I want Dean. And you. I know it sounds like utter rubbish, but I keep thinking of us. All three. Together."

Fred's expression transformed into shock and wonder. He sat for a few moments, lost in his own thoughts as he absently threaded his fingers into Seamus'.

"That's…" His fiery brows knit together. "That's unexpected."

Seamus barked a hopeless laugh. "Isn't it? Sorry I said anything. Here, we should go back in. 'S'not healthy for Dean to be talking to George for that long."

"Dean's fine. George's glad of the new company, don't worry."

"I need my drink," Seamus said, feeling as though his emotions, loyalties and sense of what the fuck to do were all jumbled and spinning like the pieces in a Muggle kaleidoscope he'd once had.

"Seamus, wait just a bloody second," Fred said in a low voice, his fingers becoming vice-like on Seamus' hand. "I didn't even know you thought about me like that any more. I've never been one to care what people think or say about what I do, and, well…" He loosened his grip on Seamus' hand, allowing it to skate the short distance across his thigh to the hardness straining against his jeans. Fred's glaze flickered ferally as Seamus had seen so often during that time they'd been together before he seemed to rein himself in. "I'm a pretty open-minded guy. Dean's certainly easy on the eyes; I'd not kick him out of my bed if I found him there."

"No, he's already in your bloody bedroom, talking to George!" Seamus hissed quietly, loathing himself more by the second and wishing with all he had for a time-turner to do the whole day over. All except for the waking up with Dean part, that was.

"Calm down. You're acting like we came out here and fucked each other senseless. All you've done is told me something you really want. It's obvious, Seamus," Fred went on, raising his hand from Seamus' crotch to place it solidly on his chest. The gesture was enough to keep Seamus' mouth shut, which was probably a blessing given what all else might come spilling out of it. "So you love Dean, and you feel something for me. I don't think that's worthy of shunting you away to the fourth floor of St. Mungo's, and it's not O-Level blarney, either. I know that's what you were about to say."

Seamus looked at Fred, at the amused, caring expression on his scarred face, and felt a slight loosening of the strangled knots of guilt in his chest.

"Okay. I won't say it. But I've not said anything to Dean, so don't you, all right?"

He stood up and went up a stair before stretching out a hand to Fred, who clasped it, pulling himself to a standing position.

"I won't," Fred promised, nuzzling his stubbled cheek against Seamus' for a moment. "But don't assume things are impossible just because you think they're unlikely to happen." He winked before taking the last two steps in one long stride and heading back into the flat.

It took Seamus a few minutes to regain his composure, but as soon as he'd corralled his arousal and turbulent thoughts, he went back inside. He heard Fred chatting with Dean, joking with him at how disappointed he was that Dean hadn't put out their brunch instead of going on and on with George, and Dean's cutting but good-humoured reply.

Eventually they sat down to the spread the three of them had compiled, eating and drinking until the food was gone and they decided to move into the living room. After a couple more screwdrivers, Seamus felt only vague guilt about the quick snog with Fred on the stairs. Dean and Fred were getting on famously, talking about all sorts of topics while Seamus held up his end of the conversation. The minutes cascaded into a few hours, with the conversation growing more lewd as Seamus and Dean inched their way through the bottle of vodka. Fred stuck to mimosas, but it was obvious he, too, was feeling the effects of his own beverages. He kept bringing the subject back to men and sex, badgering Dean for his real thoughts on the matter. He even had Dean sit in front of him, ostensibly simply as a kind gesture to rub his shoulders and neck. Despite the placid chorus of numbing in his veins, Seamus could tell that Fred had ulterior motives. He didn't do anything about it, however, since he was equally curious to see if he'd underestimated Dean's attitudes and open-mindedness. Once Dean had relaxed, he'd been uninhibited in his affectionate gestures to Seamus in front of Fred, and appeared unabashedly happy to receive Fred's focussed attentions.

"Fred, it's not about looks, bloody hell," Dean said in mock exasperation after Fred had gone through a list of nearly all of the guys they'd gone to school with. "Especially not now. Now it's all about voices, and how people feel, but I'm pretty picky."

"You should be," Seamus joked, nudging under Dean's leg with his toe. He'd gone barefoot before sitting down to brunch, as he like to let his toes breathe whenever possible.

"Yeah, well you've only been with the one bloke. He's quite a catch, I'll admit, but maybe you should find out what it's like to kiss somebody else. I know, I know, it's only Seamus for you," Fred said, squeezing Dean's shoulders tightly in an attempt to stifle Dean's usual insistence that he wasn't into men as a whole. "But would it hurt just to try?"

"I assume you're offering yourself," Dean said, one arm looped around Fred's calf and the other feeling around to find Seamus' ankle.

"Could be." Fred let his fingers slide down onto Dean's upper chest, glancing over to Seamus. Fred's eyebrows raised; his expression was one of, _'See? Just watch this.'_ "What do you think? Worth a go? No strings attached to me— but no pressure. I know you think you're a one-guy man, and Seamus is it."

At the mention of Seamus' name, Dean's ease of posture stiffened minutely, and he looked over in his direction. Seamus got up onto his knees, leaning over to exhale hotly into the distinctive question mark shape of Dean's earlobe.

"I don't mind," he breathed before nibbling on the sensitive skin. "Won't change anything between us, promise. Go on."

Dean still looked as though his intrigue and uncertainty were locked in a stalemate. "He's your ex," he said, bewilderment threaded in his voice.

"He's our friend," Seamus suggested, rubbing noses with Dean.

"But I— you," Dean began before something shifted in him. "All right, then," he said, seeming cavalier but Seamus recognised the resolution behind his words. He laid his head back, lolling against Fred's abdomen, his expression almost challenging. "You've certainly got nice hands. Impress me with whatever else you're so keen to offer."

"Oh, I've a lot to offer," Fred said, his voice husky.

Seamus scooted back and out of the way as Dean turned around. He shuffled on to his knees, placing his hands atop Fred's spread thighs as Fred shot a rather incredulous look in Seamus' direction. Seamus reached sluggishly for his glass, taking a deep swallow. Like a lazy, summer sunrise, desire unfurled in him as he watched Fred reach out, his meaty fingers cradling Dean's jaw. When their lips met and Seamus could see Dean's mouth ease open, the affection he felt for both of them spread its wings and Seamus felt he could soar. He watched for a time, seeing Dean take control of the kiss. He was entranced by the muscles of Dean's neck as their tongues battled and slid, hidden from his view. His own passion was subdued in comparison, a kettle not long ago set on to boil.

Dean eased away first, his arms still draped around Fred's neck. Seamus took the opportunity to kneel behind him, scooting in until he was flush against his back, snaking his arms around Dean's waist.

"You're so sexy. Both of you," Seamus said heedlessly, caught up in his euphoria of seeing Dean's enthusiastic response to Fred's relatively tame advance. "Gods, but I want ye," he murmured into the side of Dean's neck. "The both of you make me feel like I'll burst."

"So." Fred's unspoken question finally took weight in a single syllable.

"Well, I've had experience kissing another Weasley, y'know, but this was nothing like that."

"You secretive codger!" Seamus exclaimed, genuinely shocked. "I never knew you and Ron had it on."

"Not Ron," Dean said throatily.

"Oh. Right," Seamus snorted, dropping his head onto Dean's shoulder.

"Brotherly honour aside, don't compare me to Ginny," Fred suggested, pulling Dean even closer to him so that he was sandwiched between them.

"I won't," Dean said, one hand reaching behind him to hold on to Seamus' arse. "You're passionate— I can tell why Shay fell for you so hard."

He grabbed at Seamus' backside as Seamus eased forward, meeting Fred's awaiting kiss over Dean's shoulder with an expectant hot sigh. He sank into the rapture of sensation, imagining he could taste Dean on Fred's tongue, though of course he knew that was impossible.

"Shay? Kiss me. Now," Dean demanded, worry flooding his voice.

Seamus pulled away from Fred's lips, panic rushing through him at perhaps having pushed Dean too far. Fred gave him a look of reassurance and he eased up so that he was sitting against the back of his couch.

"C'mere, a rún," Seamus pleaded, putting his hands on Dean's hips to turn him around. "Mo chuisle mo chroí," he said, realising that he was pretty well plastered to be consoling Dean in Irish.

"What?" Dean said, nipping at Seamus' lips and holding on to his upper back. "Sounds sexy, whatever it was."

"Just telling ye I love you." He spoke the words against Dean's kiss-bruised lips before licking over the soft skin. "Let's lie down."

"You're not angry?" Dean asked, following Seamus' lead and spreading out on top of him, slowly rutting against Seamus' growing erection.

"Angry at what?"

"That I liked it. Kissing Fred," he said as though the very idea were blasphemous.

"No. Not angry. Was sexy, watching," Seamus admitted, kneading at Dean's arsecheeks and hearing his own moans at the friction of their cocks rubbing against each other. "Can he join us?"

"Join us? Like how?" Dean managed, though he was kissing Seamus feverishly and had taken hold of his hands, pressing them against the floor.

Seamus wriggled his arse, and through his lust- and alcohol-induced fog, realised that Fred must have cast a cushioning charm. "Like kissing like. And other stuff, if that'd be all right." He heard the distinctive clink of a belt buckle being undone and metallic tearing sound of a zipper being pulled down. Tilting up his head, Seamus saw Fred lifting his hips from the couch, pulling his denims and pants down to his knees.

"What's a wank between friends, right?" Fred said, his voice raspy and gaze smouldering.

"You're not!" Dean exclaimed, his flush barely noticeable, but Seamus could tell he was embarrassed.

"I am. Can't watch something as exciting as you two without doing something about it." Fred's slender cock straightened as it twitched. He licked at his palm before rubbing his thumb over the top, the reddened crown barely showing from the tight foreskin.

"Fuck, Shay. I…"

Seamus hushed Dean's possible protestations and managed to roll them over, wanting desperately to get out of his own clothes, to taste both Dean's and Fred's cocks, one after the other. "Can I suck you? Please?" Seamus begged, already sliding down Dean's torso and tugging at the button at his waistband.

"But… Fred!" Dean whimpered as Seamus tugged down his trousers, hurriedly moving to untie and slide off Dean's trainers so he could have unfettered access to Dean's groin.

"Don't stop on my account. Please," Fred groaned, the sound of lusty frustration going straight to Seamus' steely cock. "Guess I'll spell it out for you, Dean. You're really fucking hot. Kissing you gave me a raging hard-on, and watching you two makes me wish I could join you. _Accio_ lube," he growled, and Seamus moaned, his nose buried in the gingermusk of Dean's wiry thatch of hair.

"That's— you really— gods, Shay, so good," Dean babbled as Seamus set to licking and sucking his shaft.

Seamus swirled his tongue around the purpled dome before saying, "Tastes good," and sloppily but with relish resuming his blowjob.

"Fred?" Dean said tentatively, rising up onto his elbows. "Wouldn't mind more kissing, if that's okay. I can't believe I'm saying that," he said under his breath.

Seamus gave his approval by doing all the things he knew Dean loved, hollowing his cheeks for suction as he bobbed his head up and down, letting Dean set a pace for pumping his hips up while he stretched his hands back over his head.

"Fine by me," Fred purred.  
  
Seamus hadn't known he could be more turned on, but there Fred was in his stocky, freckled glory, shirt and denims shoved into an untidy heap, easing down to the floor to lie down next to Dean. With a frustrated groan, Seamus let go of Dean's shaft with a slurp.

"Getting undressed," he told Dean, whose forehead was furrowed, sweeping his arm around to figure out who was where until Fred lay down beside him. Seamus pulled off his own shirt and tore a too-long fingernail in his rushed attempt to get out of his denims to free his aching prick. Fred recommended that Dean lose his shirt as well, and at last all three of them were skin to skin.

Seamus was adrift in a sea of musk and sweat, papery skin over steel, and waves of moans and grunts. Fred lay half across Dean, kissing and suckling and turning his upper body so they were nearly chest to chest. The fact that this was happening, and that Dean was a conduit of pleasure, made Seamus feel that he was flying. He hummed and choked a laugh of delirious happiness around Dean's shaft. Dean and Fred kissed, communicating without words as Fred guided Dean's hand down to take a hold of his leaking erection. Dean cautiously took to his task, the backs of his fingers rubbing against Seamus' face on occasion. Seamus caressed and fondled Dean's sacs, loosening his throat to take all of the hard flesh in his mouth.

"Shay, oh, fucksogoodcoming," Dean gasped moments before the vinegarsweet fluid coursed into Seamus' mouth. Dean's hand stilled as Seamus swallowed, coughing once he took his mouth off of Dean's softening cock.

"You okay?" Dean panted, taking the hand he'd had wrapped around Fred's cock to wave carefully in the air until he could place it on Seamus' cheek.

"Yeah. Never better. I'll let you get back to Fred," he said, his voice a bit rough from the coughing spell.

"Your fingers are wicked," Fred enthused, turning Dean to face him and bringing his hand back to wank him some more.

"What about you?" Dean asked, looking down his body to Seamus, where he was kneeling at the vee of Dean's legs.

"Don't worry. I'll bring myself off after Fred. Watching you two's bloody amazing," he said, fumbling around the sofa cushion to find the abandoned tube of lubricant and lightly coating his cock with a deep groan at the contact.

"You sure? I could return the favour," Dean said, his hopeful tone causing a small seam of worry to tear in Seamus' blanket of contentment.

"No, love, not right now. You've no idea how sexy it is, seeing you like this."

"I can take care of myself," Fred said chivalrously. "I thought you were enjoying it, but if not…"

"No, I am," Dean insisted, curling his fingers around Fred and pulling up and down with a slight twisting motion Seamus knew he liked to use on himself. "Just self-conscious, is all."

"No need for that," Fred said, his low voice reassuring and so erotically charged Seamus bit down on his lip. "Can I tell you how good it feels? How I nearly came at the look on your face when you let yourself go with Seamus?"

Fred's supple voice did the trick and Dean was soon kissing Fred again, his nimble fingers sliding up and down the hard shaft. Seamus needed to be a part of them, but he couldn't figure out how. He was aching to come, but he felt left out.

"Dean? You still want me in your mouth?" he asked, a bit embarrassed at how needy he sounded.

"Yeah." Dean's face lit up, and Seamus gleefully knee-walked up his body once Fred had made room.

It was awkward placement for Dean, and not only that, Seamus reckoned that Fred would've been just as happy for Seamus to offer to wank them together. Regardless, after not too long, Dean's vigorous tongue and talented lips brought Seamus to the edge and his release thundered out of him, profanity and praise spilling from his mouth. Seamus felt two hands bumping his leg and realised Fred was helping Dean out, being far more forceful as he fisted his cock until warm, sticky strings shot onto Seamus' leg and Dean's stomach. There was a ringing in Seamus' ears, his heart thudding against his ribs, and he was pretty certain he had rug burn on his knees.

He felt absolutely brilliant.

Seamus eased down to flank Dean on his left side, feeling as expansive and unhurried as clouds drifting across a summer sky. He snuggled against Dean while Fred got his wand and cast some cleansing spells. It cleaned up the pearly mess on Dean's side and fingers, but thankfully didn't erase the musky, heated scent of sex that lingered on the air.

"That was unexpected," Dean said, seemingly weighing his words.

"Never done anything like that meself," Seamus said happily, burrowing his nose at the hollow of Dean's arm until Dean made a disapproving noise and Seamus laid his head below his collarbone. "You?" he asked of Fred, who now sprawled out on the floor on Dean's right side.

"Nope, can't say that I have, but it was certainly memorable."

With his right hand, Fred played with the crisp curls of hair at Dean's groin, and Seamus was pleased to see Dean let his arm reach out to drape on Fred's thigh. Dean nudged Seamus closer so he could put an arm around him. Silence reigned in the room for a time; Seamus didn't have anything to say that wouldn't sound incredibly daft, and he suspected both Fred and Dean were lost in their own thoughts. Yawning, he lazed even more on top of Dean, stretching across the sunken plain under his ribs to tap at Fred's arm. Fred moved his hand up to intertwine his fingers with Seamus' on Dean's belly.

Seamus was cosy, well fed, still buzzed and lying naked with his lover and ex. Or non-ex. As he dallied on the cusp of sleep, his eyelids drooping shut before he caught himself and nuzzled at Dean's prominent collarbone, he hoped that Dean wasn't regretting having Fred join in their coupling. Dean was a bloke, and often just as horny as Seamus, or more. The more sex and stimulation, the better— but what if Dean thought this was just a one-off? Was it?

"Would you two like to kip on my bed for a bit? I wouldn't mind a short lie-down, and the mattress is far more comfortable than the floor," Fred said sluggishly.

"Dean?" Seamus asked.

"Maybe for a little bit. Fred, where's your loo again?"

They each got up from the floor, helping each other in turn, Fred first. Seamus handed Dean his clothes which he accepted gratefully before shuffling off to the bathroom. One arm was held out in front of him, sweeping through the air until he knocked his knuckles against the doorframe. Once Dean had gone in and closed the door, Fred tugged Seamus over to him. Seamus was wrapped in an embrace that felt novel anymore, being chest to chest rather than chest to ribs.

"That was bloody brilliant," Fred said, his scruffy chest hair pressed softly against Seamus' skin. "How d'you think Dean feels?"

Seamus was taken off guard at Fred's seemingly instinctive concern for Dean. Gratitude to him and, by extension given his somewhat loopy state, the world at large, bloomed in his chest.

"Not sure," Seamus admitted, "but you two seemed to be getting on like a house on fire."

Fred made an affirming, snuffling noise. "He's a great guy. I don't know that I'd ever have thought to ask him for a shag, but I'd not turn him down if he found himself in a right state and you were otherwise unavailable."

"But I'm the one who wants you both!" Seamus said indignantly. "I'm key."

"I've been thinking about what you said, on the stairs." Fred leaned back so he could look Seamus eye to eye. "A threesome mightn't always be all three together, y'know. It's also three separate pairs, with one person left out. You and Dean both seem to have a lot of jealousy. I'm pretty easy-going by nature, and I don't want to see you lose something that's so great with Dean because one or both of you lets your imagination go absolutely bonkers."

Seamus blinked, thinking about how to respond. "When'd ye get so thoughtful?" he asked, hearing the toilet flush down the corridor and realizing he needed to take a piss as well.

"I've had a fair bit of time to myself to think," Fred said wryly, giving Seamus' shoulder a squeeze before moving away to his pile of discarded clothes.

"Shay? Make me a drink, will you?" Dean called from the doorframe, stretching his hands up in the air and getting a quizzical expression when his fingertips brushed the ceiling. "Not strong, though."

"All right."

"I'll put out some water, too," Fred said sagely, zipping up his denims and running his hands through his still short and spiky hair.

"Ta." As Seamus padded to the loo, he asked Dean to save him a spot in the middle of the bed.

"Just need you by my side," Dean said, the simple words falling like seeds into rich soil. Seamus hoped he hadn't cast a blind eye to weeds that might choke this new garden, or that he'd planted such intruders himself. Fred's insight into him was disconcerting, but Seamus put it out of his mind as he took care of his body's demands. Back in the kitchen he got two more drinks together. He yawned and walked to Fred's room, unable to keep a smile from his face when he saw Fred and Dean speaking softly. Dean's expression was unguarded, and while they weren't touching, Dean had angled toward him, still leaving space for Seamus.

Maybe the vision for his unconventional life wasn't so far-fetched after all.

* * * * *  
A rún = my dear

Mo chuisle mo chroí = the pulse of my heart


	8. Chapter 8

Four days later they went to another Green Knights match, this time with Fred, Ron and Harry as well. Seamus had traded a Sunday shift so he could go out with them since this match was on a Thursday. They were playing the Cannons which, of course, put Ron in a conflicted position, but he stayed grousing at Harry's side, and cheering for his long-suffering team despite their location in the stands. They'd chosen to sit in their usual pairings, with Fred on the end. Dean seemed to have become closer to Harry since the two of them had begun spending time together more often; it lightened Seamus' general outlook to know that Dean wasn't spending nearly as much time just hanging around their flat.

 

He and Dean hadn't really talked about their unexpected shag with Fred, and Seamus wasn't sure quite what to think about that. For his part, Seamus kept hearing Fred's words, both of not thinking things were impossible, if unlikely, but also his comment about the fact that he and Dean were prone to jealousy. Fred had owled a Howler of thanks for them coming over and having enjoyed their company. Dean had said that was a polite, but unnecessary gesture.   
  
"He's a mate. Since when did all our friends get so hung up on social niceties?" he'd said, once Fred's voice had stopped.

 

"Dunno," Seamus had replied. "I don't think it's annoying, though."

 

"Guess not." Dean had seemed overly thoughtful and kind of touchy, so Seamus had given him some space as they'd continued on through their usual routines.

 

Here at the match, Seamus was flanked with Fred to his left and Dean to the right, and he'd been equally affectionate through the game. Granted, he'd focussed mostly on the playing. The Cannons put on an impressive show, but the Green Knights continued their winning streak and ended up thrashing Ron's team by the end.

 

"I need a drink," Ron moaned after the roaring cheers for the Glaswegian team had died down and they'd put on their coats to leave the relatively new stadium.

 

"Poor baby," Harry said consolingly, patting him on the back. "I'll take care of your first round."

 

"The Badger's a pretty decent pub," Fred suggested, putting his hands in the pockets of his distinctive dragon skin coat. "Ten galleons says I'll wipe their snooker table with your fine Irish arse," he went on to Seamus, challenge glinting in his eyes.

 

"Ye're on, Weasley," Seamus shot back, smirking. "With pleasure. I'll enjoy giving those Galleons a new home."

 

"Did you two use the Apparition point or fly?" Harry asked Dean, whom he guided in front of him. Dean's stick made its usual clacking sound as he made his way to the stairs, Seamus still exchanging mock barbs with Fred.

 

"Neither. We're on Seth."

 

"Can I come see your bike?" Ron asked, pulling down his collar and glancing back at Seamus.

 

A look of surprise flitted across his features and his eyebrows rose in question. Seamus had draped his arm behind Fred's waist, fingers holding on to a belt loop. He'd not thought a thing about the gesture until Ron's expression caught him off-guard.

 

"'Course!" Seamus replied, letting loose of Fred's denims and rubbing his hands together. "He's a fun ride. I should take you on him sometime."

 

He walked as quickly as he could through the crowd to get to Dean's side even though Harry was steering him with the same respectful distance that Seamus did. His stomach churned slightly, as though he'd eaten some leftovers that had proven to be a bit off. He wasn't ashamed of his time at Fred's flat— bugger Ron for giving him a weird look at playing around with Fred anyway, he decided, a sliver of animosity burning irritatingly into him.

 

It was once they'd arrived as a group to the special parking area Seamus had secured given Dean's condition that he was bowled over by his own forgetfulness: Only Dean and Fred knew that he and Fred been together, more than friends, at all. As he showed off the motorbike, gushing about it without really thinking about what he was saying, the seriousness of his fanciful ideas of giving his heart to both men at once made his gut clench. He was rebellious enough to tell the world and anyone who didn't approve to fuck off, but he'd really never considered that his own friends might not understand. Ron probably thought Seamus was being a prick by flirting with Fred. He didn't have a clue that for a time in the past they'd had passionate, caring sex every night and consoled each other in ways that had profoundly affected Seamus at the time— and on some level, had never gone away.

 

"Hey Dean, would you mind if I took a spin with Seamus?" Ron asked.

 

"No, that's fine," Dean said, shrugging. "Harry, do you mind side-along Apparating with me? I'm pretty sure I know where it is, but I could get in rather a bind if I end up in the wrong place."

 

"Happy to." Harry's warm smile and rub on Dean's arm revealed that he must have felt flattered to be asked.

 

"I'll follow you two and the throngs at that Apparation gate," Fred said, pointing to a nearby queue. Witches and wizards were quickly vanishing off to their myriad destinations with ceaseless __crack!__ ing sounds that reminded Seamus of fireworks.

 

"We won't be doing any sightseeing or anything," Seamus reassured him as their group got ready to split up before reconvening. He moved the few steps to give Dean a hug and rose on the balls of his feet to brush a kiss against his cheek. "See you in just a little bit," he said more quietly into Dean's ear above the din of the crowd around them. "You don't mind?"

 

"No. Harry says he wants to talk to me about those photos he took, anyway. Just be careful."

 

"I always am, love." 

 

He waited until Harry, Dean and Fred had Disapparated before turning back to his motorcycle and handing Ron the helmet Dean usually wore. Ron fastened the strap under his chin as Seamus situated himself on the seat, looking off to the horizon where the sun was setting in a swath of bloody sky. He patted the seat behind him as Ron shook his head slightly.

 

"Don't like the helmet," he admitted. "It's heavier than I expected."

 

"Too bad. It's a requirement. Get on and hold tight," Seamus said with a supportive smile. A few moments later, Ron was ensconced behind him and Seamus turned the key, the engine roaring to life. "You ready?" he shouted over his shoulder, feeling Ron's nod as his helmet bumped the back of Seamus' with a dull thump. "When we get to any bends in the road, lean with me, not against, all right?"

 

"I'll try!" Ron yelled, interlacing his fingers over Seamus' abdomen.

 

Seamus kicked up the kickstand with the heel of his boot, walked his feet forward until they picked up speed and cruised away from the stadium. They eased into the Muggle world on a motorway a couple of miles distant. When they were nearly at the pub, Seamus stopped at a traffic light, feeling the idling motor like a deep thrumming in his marrow.

 

"What d'you think?" he asked loudly, leaning back and tilting his head to get the words back to Ron.

 

"It's great! I bet Dean loves it, all the wind and being out in the open."

 

"Yeah. He was always a much better flyer than I was, and I reckon he likes riding with me much more on Seth than trying to fly behind me on me broom."

 

At that moment the light changed, Seamus engaged the throttle and took off from the intersection. Soon they were at the Belligerent Badger. Ron enthusiastically began chatting Fred's ear off about his ride while Seamus joined the group at a booth where Harry and Dean were engrossed in conversation. After a time Fred raised his eyebrows, nodding his head toward the snooker table where a couple were already playing.

 

"We should stake our claim on the table," he said, taking a swig from his pint.

 

"Too right," Seamus agreed. "Ron? You want to come watch me destroy yer brother's pride?"

 

"In a bit," Ron said, taking a healthy swallow of his Bitter Banshee. "Gotta drown my sorrows for another Cannons loss first, then I'll be over."

 

Seamus raised his glass in salute before ambling over to the snooker table, Fred at his side. "Thanks for your note," he said, discreetly taking hold of Fred's hand and running his thumb along the palm. "Didn't need to thank us. We had a great time."

 

"I did, too." Fred's smile was a slow burn, earthy and smouldering like the peat fires lit in the hearth from Seamus' childhood. "Any chance we can do some of that again?"

 

"I hope so." Seamus squeezed Fred's hand before letting it loose with a rueful look. "I'm all for it 'o course, but Dean's not said anything. We don't exactly sit around and chin-wag like birds over tea, but I reckon we ought to have a talk. Because I'm not going to do anything to hurt him. But bloody hell, seeing both of you, wanting both of you…" 

 

Seamus' words vanished into his remembrance of pale and dark limbs; of Dean's gingerscent and Fred's juniper; of glistening skin pulled tight, bobbing up from russet and black wiry whorls.

 

"Yeah. I've been thinking about it a lot myself." Fred took another pull on his drink, standing close but not noticeably so. "Why don't you two come back to the flat tonight? I've got to open the shop in the morning, so it wouldn't be that late of a night…"

 

Seamus pondered the logistics, Dean's lack of commentary about the first time they'd all been together, and Ron's funny look.

 

"I'd really like to," he said earnestly, "but I should talk to Dean first. He was already more keen on you after you took him flying, but he can get a bit possessive. I love him, truly I do. Just can't help it that you've stayed under my skin as well," he went on, catching a knowing smirk that had settled on Fred's lips. "What about you, anyway? You're keen enough; do you want to be in this all together or are you just in this for now as long as it lasts? Oh— ta."

 

The couple had finished their game, handing their cue sticks to Fred and him. He let Fred set up the balls while he went and bought a second round, bringing Fred a Guinness and a firewhiskey for himself, putting them on a nearby table. Fred pensively rubbed chalk on the end of his cue stick, his expression a perplexing mixture of self-assurance and uncertainty. He leaned over the table, aiming carefully. Seamus watched the expected trajectory of the balls, cracking and ricocheting against the bumpers and each other in an intricate dance.

 

"I lost half of myself," Fred said simply, moving around the table to aim at another cluster after his first successful shot. "You helped me keep from totally falling apart, or becoming a suicidal fuckup. I don't really know why I felt I had to give that up — you up — I just did."

 

His gaze honed in on the white ball, and from over his shoulder, Seamus could perceive his intended shot as clearly as though it was his to make. He'd never been good at chess, but the strategy for snooker came easily, though he'd certainly perfected it with hours and hours of practise.

 

"I feel like I've been given a second chance with you. I'll take it for as long as it's offered, but I'm not going to be held responsible for some huge drama between you and Dean."

 

There was another series of clacking sounds as his shot hit its target.

 

"You mean a lot to me," Fred continued, "but I left you before and I don't expect anything from you, not right now. Shagging you both was unexpected, but I could easily get used to it. Am I going to profess undying love to either of you and suggest matching handfasting bands? Not likely."

 

Seamus was about to interrupt, but Fred's look bade him to hold his tongue so he could finish. Fred leaned on his cue stick, some rogue grey hairs catching the overhead lamplight.

 

"Life can be pretty fucking tragic, but I've not given up on it. Things don't have to be all neat and orderly for me; I care for you, I loved fucking you, and I admit it— if I thought you'd say yes, I'd ask you to stay in my bed every night. Dean's a part of you, though, and I think he's a good bloke. I don't know him that well, but that wouldn't stop me from shagging him. I'd like to be in your lives, but you've both got to do the inviting."

 

He repositioned himself over the table and steadied his hand for his third shot while Seamus took a couple of deep swallows of his firewhiskey. His mind was filled with turbulent images flung around like wind-tossed leaves. He barely noticed how off Fred's shot was, he was so caught up in the ground Fred had covered in his unexpected and plain spoken monologue.

 

"That was dungtastic," Fred muttered derisively, his expression shuttered in a way it hadn't been before. Seamus turned about to see Ron walking up to the table.

 

"Must've been the light, but you were looking bloody philosophical there, Fred!" Ron declared, shaking his head in disbelief. "What on earth are you two talking about?"

 

"Nothing that concerns you," Fred said, not quite rudely. "Seamus, your go."

 

Seamus tried to concentrate, but between the firewhiskey and the buzzing around of Fred's blunt honesty, his game wasn't what it should've been. They played another couple of rounds before he begged off, handing Fred his ten galleons and forcing them into his denims pocket when he refused to take them. He left Ron and Fred to their own game and settled back at Dean's side. A current of tenderness coursed through him, manifesting itself in small touches and subtle caresses. Dean seemed thirsty enough for them, wordlessly absorbing the affection and occasionally sliding his hand down to rest on Seamus' thigh or keeping their upper arms touching.

 

Dean stifled a yawn. Seamus had just started on his fourth — or was it fifth? — firewhiskey, but decided the evening had probably gone on long enough. Perhaps in direct correlation to the languorous trickle of mostly-innocent touches, he wanted to go home, get rid of their clothes and have Dean make love to him, slow and steady. Nothing flash, just his legs wide over Dean's shoulders, Dean leaning over him so Seamus was nearly bent in half, Dean's cock filling him up, hot breath and tongue flooding his mouth like sultry summer rain.

 

"Want to go home?" Seamus asked, draping his arm behind Dean's back.

 

"Yeah. Is my drink nearly finished?" he asked, swirling around a couple of inches of ale.

 

"Very nearly." Seamus finished his, the fiery liquid a mellow heat dulled by the prior glasses.

 

Fred and Ron scooted away from the edge of the table where they'd rejoined the group, so Dean and Seamus could get out without much of a struggle. Harry placed the handle of Dean's guide stick in his hand, saying he and Ron would be leaving soon themselves, as the rest of the group bid their good-byes. Seamus' ears rang with blessed quiet once they were outside; he liked the Badger, though its loud music and conversation always made his head throb. The pub where he worked tended to be much easier on the ears though it was just as busy. He waited until Dean was securely planted behind him, arms wrapped tightly about his waist before edging Seth out from the kerb and toward home.

 

After parking the motorbike, they walked around the footpath. Dean's distinctive tapping echoed in the otherwise quiet evening as they passed under the intrusive halo of a street light. A muted, pitiful sound came from near the front door of the flat block as they approached.

 

"Kipper! Kipper?" Dean called, his voice heavy with concern.

 

"Who's Kipper?" Seamus asked. "That flea-ridden cat that's always lurking about?"

 

"Yes! Find him, Seamus! He sounds awful. Fuck, I wish I could get him myself. Usually he comes straight to me…" his voice trailed off as another pathetic, low mewl drifted from under the stairs.

 

"Why Kipper?" Seamus reached his hands gingerly into the murky dark, hoping to Merlin that he got out of this experience without his forearms full of scratches. 

 

"Because he kips out here. He's homeless."

 

There was a subdued growl as Seamus touched fur.

 

"Here— guide me to him. He's used to me," Dean insisted, feeling along the handrail and crouching next to Seamus. "C'mere Kipper. Come on, you silly bugger. I'll take care of you. Shay and I'll take you to the vet."

 

"To the what?"

 

"The vet! Oh, there y'go, oh Kip. C'mere, it's all right."

 

The grotty cat, with matted fur and a malevolent look in its eerie grey eyes, or so Seamus thought, came limping out from the stairs to hobble under Dean's outstretched fingers and then into his arms. Dean continued to pet and soothe the creature, who was obviously still in distress. He murmured reassuring, quiet words nonstop until he focussed his attentions on Seamus.

 

"We've got to Apparate to the vet."

 

"I don't bloody well know where that is!" Seamus exclaimed before he noticed a couple wandering down the other side of the street and he lowered his voice. "I've never had a pet. You know that."

 

"The only one I know of's Muggle. They'll ask too many questions." Dean was positively fretting, worry etching deep lines on his forehead.

 

"Let's get him up to our flat, and I'll firecall Ron'n'Harry," Seamus suggested, taking Dean's elbow and tugging him towards the stairs. "If they've gone home, that is."

 

"Okay. Just get the doors, right?"

 

They made their way upstairs, Dean trying to keep the cat's mewing to a minimum, but any jostling made him cry out. Inside the flat, Seamus cast a couple of hasty __Lumos__ ' and stood next to Dean to get a look at Kipper under the light.

 

"I think he got in a fight," Dean said, smoothing his fingers at a joint until the cat made a sound that was half-growl, half-yelp and snapped its sharp teeth at him. "Think that's blood, isn't it?"

 

"Yeah. Looks like he got into a bit of a donnybrook. That or he got hit by a car. Bloody Muggles'll run you over as sure as look at ye."

 

"Can you get him some milk? No, firecall first so we know where to go, then we can get him something to drink."

 

"I think moving him around isn't a good idea," Seamus said over his shoulder, striding to the fireplace and casting an __Incendio__ so flames leapt up. He stuck his head into the heat, hoping that Ron and Harry had their connection open.

 

"Ron? Harry?" he called, leaning forward. "You there? We've got a bit of an emergency. 'S not us, don't worry."

 

There was silence, then distant footfalls before Harry's bony ankles with their distinctive showering of silky black hair stood in Seamus' line of vision. Seconds later Harry was crouched at his grate, looking worried.

 

"What's going on?" he asked, rubbing a ratty shirt sleeve on his glasses.

 

"The cat that hangs around the flat block that Dean keeps feeding got into a fight or something. Neither of us knows where a vet is, a proper one. Do you?"

 

"There's one at Trafalgar Square. Go to the old police box at the southeastern corner, tap on the window with green paint with your wand and a Disillusioned door will show up. They'll let you in."

 

"Are they open now?" Seamus knew St. Mungo's was always open, but he was quite clueless about animal emergencies.

 

"Yeah, there's a vet there all the time as I understand it. You or Dean owl me tomorrow about the cat, okay?"

 

"Will do. Thanks, Harry."

 

"Don't mention it. G'night."

 

Seamus sat back on his heels and put out the fire. "We've got to go to some police box at Trafalgar Square. I don't want to have to hide Seth or find a place to park, not at this time of night."

 

"It's not even midnight!" Dean said incredulously.

 

"Yeah, but Apparating's faster, anyway. Isn't there an Apparition gateway on that side of London?"

 

"Yes. It's at Pall Mall, near a statue of some George or another. I can still see that one pretty well in my mind's eye." He continued to pet the cat tenderly on the head; it still made pained mewing sounds and had shut its eyes.

 

"I'll get a towel or something for it," Seamus said. "I'd rather side-along, if it's okay with you."

 

"All right, but hurry up and let's go."

 

After rooting through a small stack of towels, Seamus found a fairly old and threadbare one and he hurried back into the kitchen to drape it on Kipper.

 

"I've put up a silencing spell, so let's just go from here," Dean said, seeming more anxious now that they knew where to go.

 

"Thanks." Seamus raised up to place a kiss on Dean's cheek. "You ready?"

 

Dean nodded as Seamus held him as close as he dared without smashing the cat against Dean's chest. Closing his eyes, he visualised the hedge near the corner, narrowed his intentions to include just their bodies and destination, and felt the familiar compressing strength of Apparition.

 

Getting into the vet's proved easy enough, and soon they were sitting in two chairs side by side, waiting as the cat was administered two specific healing draughts and a modified potion of skele-grow for her broken left hind leg and hip.

 

"We'll keep her at our place," Dean stated, drumming his fingers against his shin, draped cross-legged across his knee.

 

"It's an outdoor cat, Dean!" Seamus protested, not at all excited about the prospect of a litter box to be cleaned, stinky cat food to be served twice a day, and the fact that her running underfoot could cause Dean to fall and hurt himself.

 

"I've no doubt she'll get used to being indoors. She can go out on the porch while we're at home, if she wants." He kept emphasising her newly-discovered gender, the repetition grating on Seamus for reasons he couldn't really explain. Perhaps the 60 galleon fee had something to do with it.

 

"I'll be the one to clean the bloody litter box," Seamus grumbled, feeling cross and uncertain why he was so out of joint about things. He'd had a great time at the pub, though Fred had spread out rather a lot to think about and he'd not done so. All he'd really wanted was to get home and have familiar but never boring sex with Dean.

 

"I can do it. I'll be fine with a scraper and bag, and we can put it in the laundry room. C'mon Shay— she's quite sweet, y'know. She'll love you if you just give her a chance."

 

Dean's comments were so heartfelt Seamus felt his resistance chip away. The idea of a half-wild feline with very sharp claws wandering around their flat didn't exactly fill him with domestic rapture. However, the thought of Dean lounging on the couch, listening to one of his books, Kipper curled up at his feet or on his chest made a cosy feeling slide peacefully over him like putting on well-worn boots.

 

"You're probably right."

 

Dean smiled. After feeling at Seamus' crossed arms, he tugged at the left so that Seamus let them loose, and slid his hand into Seamus'. 

 

"Think I could talk you into a quick shag once we're home?" Seamus asked, giving Dean's hand a small squeeze.

 

"I'll treat you to more than that," Dean promised. Seamus stretched out his legs, contentment beating a vibrant tattoo in his chest.

 


	9. Chapter 9

"So where're you meeting Fred, again?" Seamus asked through a mouthful of toothpaste foam. He glanced from his reflection in the mirror down to Kipper, who sat on top of the toilet lid, watching him brush his teeth with a disinterested gaze. Her stumpy tail slowly swished back and forth.

 

"Calliope's Caboodle. I'll take the Floo to the Leaky and go to meet him at Wheezes, first," Dean called from their bedroom.

 

"The music shop? What for?" Seamus spat into the sink before brushing his tongue, wondering what was going on since neither Dean nor Fred were particularly musically inclined.

 

"Fred's decided to get a guitar. I have, too."

 

The amused excitement in Dean's voice carried down the corridor and Seamus rinsed his mouth quickly. He shook his head before he a perfunctory gargle, daubing at some water on his chin.

 

"You're getting a what?" he asked in disbelief, scooping out a galleon-sized bit of lurid green gel to twist into the ends of his hair.

 

"A guitar. We're going to take lessons together."

 

Seamus pondered that for a moment as he made the hair edges into stiff green spikes, pointedly ignoring the disapproving clucking sounds of the mirror. He worked at a pub, not Gringott's, and the pub owner didn't mind when Seamus got a bit colourful with his hair or clothes.

 

"How're ye gonna learn? You can't read music." He ambled down the corridor to their room to lean against the doorframe. Admiringly he watched as Dean took a pick to his own hair, feeling around the brushed-out waves until he looked wild and tousled. It suited him, very much.

 

"I know. I've been talking with a couple of guys at the Centre for the Blind and they've convinced me they can do a Braille version of the reading charts."

 

"That's… that's great!" Seamus said as Dean shuffled over to their closet, feeling through the hanging clothes until he found his favourite tracksuit top and pulled it off the hanger. "What brought this idea on, then?"

 

"Fred. We talked about it for a little while when you were in hospital, during the transfusion. You could get one too, if you wanted."

 

"Nah. Not me. Too expensive, anyway."

 

"Is there some other instrument you'd be interested in?" Dean patted at his groin, making sure he'd zipped his flies. He made his way to the door, his arms as always stretched out just in case a piece of furniture had moved.

 

"Bagpipes," Seamus deadpanned, hooking his fingers in Dean's belt loops to pull him in for a quick kiss on the mouth.

 

"No way! You've not got a drop of Scottish blood in you!" Dean exclaimed with a barked laugh, rubbing at Seamus' arse and moving out of the doorway to the living room.

 

"Actually, that's not true," Seamus said, trailing behind him. "I've got some McGhinty in me, a smidge of Scotch-Irish, I'll have you know."

 

"You're having me on," Dean said from the front door, retrieving his guide stick and returning to the fireplace. "Mister I'm So Irish I Bleed Green?"

 

"Yes, it's a shameful family secret," Seamus said dramatically as Dean huffed through his nose. "Me mam had a couple of small cloths of the McGhinty tartan. How 'bout that? I could wear a kilt! I've got the right, even though it'd be completely unnatural."

 

"Well, if you wore it as they say they do, with nothing but their pride on underneath…" Dean raised a provocative eyebrow.

 

"I'm full of pride." Seamus frotted against Dean's hip and Dean laughed aloud.

 

"No shite. Get the floo power, will you? I want to get on my way before you're too full of yourself and there's no room for anything in this flat but your big head," Dean said, still grinning.

 

"Sounds like you and Fred've been getting on well." Seamus' spirits were lifted by that thought. He hadn't yet brought up their unexpected threesome, listening for once to his instincts, which had suggested he wait.

 

"He's a good bloke."

 

Curiosity got the better of Seamus, and as he handed Dean the bowl of verdant sand he asked, "Have you two talked about our brunch? And after, I mean?" he clarified, looking over to gauge Dean's reaction to the question.

 

"No. I think he's as embarrassed about it as we are," Dean confided, shaking his head ruefully.

 

"I'm not embarrassed!"

 

Dean turned, a small culvert forming between his brows. "You're not? I mean, we must've been totally pissed to get together like that. I know I was. I'll have to start mixing my own drinks, somehow."

 

"Why would you be embarrassed? I thought you'd liked it. All of that skin, and mouths, and hands, and…" Seamus let his words stop as he scooted closer, putting his arms around Dean's waist and nosing at his neck.

 

"Well, I did, but I quite like how things are with just us, thanks all the same." Dean started to lean into Seamus' embrace before changing his mind and standing more stiffly, placing the Floo powder bowl back up on the fireplace mantle. "You're not thinking that was anything more than a drunken one-off, are you?"

 

"Why not?" Seamus asked honestly. The sight of a tightening around Dean's mouth clued him in to Dean's thoughts on the matter with lightning speed.

 

"For fuck's sake, Seamus! You and I are together. Why in bloody hell isn't that enough? I agonised over telling you how I really felt, and things've been bloody brilliant and then Fred puts on some fucking __poor me__ act and then you can't seem to have enough of him around. You __did__ fuck him when you first visited him at Wheezes, didn't you?" he snarled, the angry words causing Seamus to rush to his own defence, and he stepped a pace away from Dean.

 

"No! I wouldn't do that! I just thought—"

 

"You thought you'd just invite him to join in, when we've not even been together but a few months? I know he seems honest, and he's been through a lot of shite, but so fucking have I!" Dean was fuming, his ire and hurt radiating from him. "Why can't you just be with me, Shay? You're all I want, or thought I did. Dammit!"

 

He breathed loudly through his nose and stomped a few steps away to plant a hand against the wall, sightlessly glaring back at Seamus. "Don't you realise how the world's a fucking nightmare to me without you nearby, being with me, helping me out without making me feel like a useless excuse for a man? You're enough for me, Shay, always have been. 'S like breathing, being mates, and now all of this, sleeping together and sex and…"

 

The sound that tore from his throat made Seamus think of an animal caught in a trap. Dean beat his hand against the wall a couple of times, his tirade having turned into a low rumbling of furious unintelligible syllables. Seamus wanted to tell him he felt exactly the same, that he couldn't bear the thought of waking up without Dean there. It was just that he did want Fred there, too. Maybe not all the time, but as a constant in their lives.

 

"Dean— I've not told you of these thoughts I'd had because I thought they were half-mad meself, but then Fred—"

 

"AUGH!" The sound was a punch of miserable vindication. "So you've been chatting him up about this ménage a trois fantasy of yours, have you? Fuck it all! I'm leaving!" Dean yelled, reaching back up to the mantle for the bowl of Floo powder. He grabbed a fistful of granules with a ferocious dig so that it wobbled precariously on its ledge.

 

"Not like this!" Seamus pleaded, moving closer but uncertain how Dean would react. "Don't just go. I know it sounds crazy, and you __are__ enough—"

 

"Shut up! I'm not talking about this right now," Dean seethed, his jaw clenched so tightly Seamus' own muscles twinged at the sight. Dean kicked his foot out to be sure of the edge of the hearth before hurling down the powder. "The Leaky Cauldron!" he bellowed, stepping into the green flames and vanishing into the brief flare of light.

 

"FUCK!" Seamus swore, storming out of the room to their study, wanting to find something to throw at the wall. With a marrow-deep cry, he slammed his fist into the wall instead, backing away dazedly after a few moments of ringing silence. He saw he'd made a hole in the plaster. His hand throbbed; it really hurt. Merlin, did it fucking hurt, though nothing compared to the pummeling he felt in his chest.

 

"You deserve it," he growled to himself, already beginning to nurse his wounded knuckles as he stalked to the kitchen. He yanked the bottle of scotch out of a pantry, twisted off the cap with his left hand and took several swallows straight from the bottle. His eyes burned; the pressure of holding himself together proved too much and he collapsed to the floor, the bottle clunking onto the lino as his back thumped against a cabinet door. Scalding tears leaked from the corners of his eyes as he breathed heavily, finally letting go with a hiccoughing wail. He cried and raged, banging the sturdy Glenmorangie against the floor before taking another swig and then slamming it down across from him. He pulled his knees up, cradling his aching hand against his chest and half-sobbing, half dry-heaving into the palm of his left hand. 

 

Utter anguish filled his mouth; he could smell the sickly tang of self-derision as he wiped his nose on his shirt before leaning his head back so it hit the cabinet door behind him. His mouth hung open to let out the last of the battered cries from deep in his chest, until finally it had all poured out of him, leaving him limp and sullied, wrung out like a soggy old tea towel. Still sniffling, he glanced down at the watch around his left wrist. It was a few minutes after three, and he needed to be at the pub ready to work a bit before four. Thankfully that gave him a half-hour to clean up and get his emotions under control— and to cast a sobering spell on himself. Dean may have just stormed out of the flat to go and do Merlin only knew what with Fred — or __to__ him — but Seamus had a job, and he took his work ethic seriously. Despite feeling as though he'd really been run over by a Muggle lorry, work was work. He knew Dean nearly as intimately as himself; Dean would calm down, and if some drama came to pass in Diagon Alley, no doubt he'd hear about it later.

 

Still.

 

After easing to his feet, Seamus put the scotch back in the pantry, found his wand on the living room table and cast a two-part healing spell on his hand. He winced a bit as he flexed and stretched the fingers, reckoning that it would continue to be sore through the evening until he could get Dean to cast one as well. In the meantime, there was a draught of pain potion in the bathroom.

 

A tentative mewing sound came from under the small dining room table. Seamus smiled sadly as Kipper silently walked to him, purring lightly and winding a figure eight around his ankles. He reached down to rub at her head and ears, surprised when he realised that he was grateful for her company.

 

"Think he still cares about me?" he asked her, picking her up until she mewled in displeasure and he put her back down on the floor. She continued to use his ankles as head-rubbing posts, occasionally stopping to lick at a paw, or leg, or rub at her nose.

 

"Yeah. I hope so, too. That really wasn't how I'd hoped that conversation would go," he said gloomily, padding down the corridor to the bathroom where he took a washcloth to his blotchy, tear-stained face.

 

"You look—" his mirror began.

 

"Get stuffed," he growled, ignoring the mirror's mutinous response.

 

He looked like shite, which was an equal reflection to how he felt. So much for thinking that Dean would understand that Seamus truly did love him with a depth he'd not felt for anyone else, Fred included. Dean probably figured that Seamus was a freak, and in all likelihood would tell Fred to stay the fuck away, or that he could have Seamus to himself, or he'd come home and tell Seamus that he had to choose: Fred or him.

 

That was easy enough, though as he regarded himself, the green spikes of his hair and his red-rimmed eyes, his heart fiercely protested against having to pick only one. But he could, and it would be Dean. If Dean still wanted him, that was. The drink and ebbing away of powerful emotions left him feeling rather mellow, and contemplative. He thought about fire-calling Harry, but didn't know what in bloody hell he'd tell him. Instead he went to the kitchen and poured himself a tall glass of gingerbeer, found a wool cardigan he'd tossed onto a chair a day or two ago, buttoned it up and swept up his pack of fags from the countertop to go smoke on the porch.

 

He replayed the conversation in his mind, hearing Dean's shouts and incredulity again and again, looping endlessly while he inhaled the pungent tobacco. He realised that all hope wasn't lost; Dean hadn't said he hated him, hadn't told him to pack his stuff and leave. There had been a menagerie of hurt and incomprehension, but that could be remedied with time and some potentially awkward but perhaps needed talks. All in all, things would be okay, he decided, taking a deep pull on the cigarette and glancing warily at the leaden sky. Well, things would be okay for them, but his hopes for Fred's presence, his protective, indomitable spirit and, to be candid, a body that still attracted Seamus more strongly than the most potent sticking spell… that opportunity seemed to be over before it had ever really begun.

 

He stubbed out the cigarette into a makeshift ashtray and went back into the flat, toying again with the idea of fire-calling Harry as he assumed Ron would be at work. Shaking his head, he listened to Kipper's insistent meows. He wandered back into the kitchen and got her a few treats from a jar spelled to stay shut so she couldn't get into it, a lesson learned the hard way. After she ate them, he played with her for a time with a long feather on a pole until she tired of it and settled down on one of her favourite spots on the couch to take a nap.

 

Rather than take the Floo network as he normally did, Seamus traipsed down to Seth. Something in him made him check to ensure that the spare set of leathers and helmet were in their compartment, charmed to a size at which they could be strapped onto the back of the seat. Tugging up the zip on his burgundy leather jacket, he sat astride his motorbike, turned on the engine and let it idle until it purred with its distinctive low throb, and headed to the Dove's Cry.

 

* * * * *

 

It was a busy night, the perfect mixture of frenetic activity so Seamus was never idle, but not so frantic that he couldn't get some downtime here and there. It was during one of these brief interludes when he'd taken a rare smoking break out in the alley behind the pub that a familiar but disorientingly unexpected figure appeared.

 

"Hullo, Fred!" Seamus said as Fred approached, his hands in his pockets, a thoughtful expression tinting his features.

 

"Seamus. Can I have a word?"

 

"Sure," Seamus said expansively before he found he was caught up in Fred's burly, warm embrace. "I'll get you a drink inside, if you'd like."

 

"No, that's all right." Fred stepped back, declining Seamus' offer of a cigarette. "You and Dean had a row." It was a statement, not a question.

 

"Yeah. He told you? Did you two really buy guitars?" Seamus was still finding the whole concept of Dean and Fred picking up a musical instrument rather fanciful.

 

"No, but we will soon. Just looked and tried playing a couple. Look, Seamus, you should know— he practically pounced on me. Very odd. I didn't let him do all that he said he wanted to, though it took a lot of discipline on my part. He's a fabulous kisser."

 

"I know." The words were out of Seamus' mouth automatically, well before the shock of what Fred had said actually registered with him and he could think of a proper reply. "He what?!"

 

"I could tell it was out of revenge, or anger, or something," Fred went on.

 

"Are you sure you don't want to come inside? I've got to go in in just a few, and this sounds like something we should really talk about," Seamus said, his thumb brushing over the bit of chest hair exposed in the open vee of his shirt.

 

"No, I really just wanted to find out what's going on, a quick summary is fine. If you don't think that's breaking confidence." Fred's gaze was intense, much as he'd looked when they'd gone through the details of their daily missions those last few months of the War.

 

"No, I don't reckon. I told him I didn't feel at all badly about our time together, the three of us, at your place, and that I wanted that to go on." Seamus took a final drag and ground out the cigarette under his boot heel, exhaling the last bit of smoke toward the pub wall. "Dean didn't like that idea very much."

 

Fred nodded knowingly. "That explains a few things. He seemed pretty preoccupied, then wouldn't keep his hands off of me, saying he wanted to know more what I was like. Normally I wouldn't mind, but without you there…" His voice trailed off and Seamus couldn't help but glance at his watch, swearing under his breath. He hated it when he got so conscious about time and being late.

 

"I won't keep you," Fred insisted, shaking his head when Seamus tugged him toward the building. "He just seemed off, and really disappointed when we didn't shag right there."

 

"What, in the shop?" Seamus was thunderstruck. He was going to have to try and firecall Dean. This was all going to Hades in a cauldron and he felt like the world's biggest idiot.

 

"No, back at my flat. We did snog, and there was some serious groping, but that's it. Again, not that I minded, but he seemed all desperate about it, not like he really wanted me. Just thought I'd find out what's going on. You've not spoken yet, I guess?"

 

"No, but I'll firecall him, or go down to the Muggle pub a block or so down on my next break and ring him on the telephone proper." Seamus was agitated now; he needed to get back to work, but he was thrown by Fred's visit and Dean's shocking behaviour.

 

"You have a telephone?" Fred asked, confused. "Why?"

 

"So Dean can talk with his two surviving sisters. The ones who weren't there when the Death Eaters torched the house," Seamus ground out angrily.

 

"Oh. I didn't know," Fred said, his voice respectfully quiet. "Well, I know you've got to get back to work, and I have things of my own to do. I also want to be clear about the fact that I'm not sneaking around— tell Dean or don't that I came by here. I just wanted to find out from you what his motivations were. If he does come by alone again, though, I won't turn him down."

 

"I wouldn't be able to," Seamus admitted, circling an arm around Fred's waist and kissing him firmly on the mouth. The kiss deepened for a very few moments, their tongues tangling just long enough for Seamus' pulse to pick up speed.

 

"Thanks for telling me," he said, fairly certain Fred could hear the resignation in his tone. "Guess this is what I get for listening to my instincts. Reckon I can expect to spend some cold and lonely nights on the couch."

 

"I know where there's a warm bed, and pretty decent company." There was both humour and sultry invitation in Fred's voice.

 

"I can't." Seamus felt his heart twist painfully at Fred's quirked mouth, his still-thin face evaluating the conflicting thoughts Seamus knew must be stamped so obviously in his expression.

 

"I know. Talk to you later."

 

Fred wandered off a few paces before Apparating away, and Seamus returned to the comforting bustle of the pub. Given the strangeness of the evening due to Fred's visit, he still found himself marveling at how surreal his night had become when he heard the unmistakable tapping of Dean's guide stick in the relative hush of the quarter hour before closing.

 

"Dean?" Seamus asked, stunned as he carefully approached the bar.

 

"Hi Shay. Get me a drink?"

 

The other bartender, a man in his late thirties named Hamish with luminous violet eyes gave Seamus a questioning look.

 

"I've got it," Seamus said hurriedly. "Dean's me mate. We live together— you keep cleaning up." Turning to Dean as he felt his way around the stool and bar ledge, he asked, "What's your poison?"

 

"Irish volcano." A slow smile eased onto his lips and Seamus found his heart easing from the constricting knots that had been bound around it since their fight that afternoon.

 

"One Irish volcano, coming right up."

 

He made the drink and set it down, barely touching Dean's long fingers outstretched on the mahogany wood of the bar.

 

"Thanks, Shay." He took a swallow, grimaced slightly, then took another as he seemed to come to a resolution unfurling from deep within himself. "I think I overreacted," he said softly. "Oh, and I'm not here to keep you late, just wanted to have a quick chat and then we can go home together."

 

"Suits me." Seamus leaned forward from inside the bar, resting on his forearms.

 

"I've been thinking about what you said, and trying to figure out what it is you're looking for, and what it is that I want, or expected." He paused, the fingers of his right hand drumming out a pattern on the polished surface. "I know I didn't expect this at all, being blind, or being with you, like we are." 

 

There was another silence, but Seamus had no desire to rush him. He could lock up the pub if need be; the owner trusted him implicitly, and this was too important not to take as long as Dean wanted to speak.

 

"Fred's a decent guy. Better than decent, actually. I've just been trying to figure out why you still cared for him at all, after all the crap he put you through. After talking with him some today, I can tell he regrets it. Enough that he'd be with you, if I weren't. But I am, and he respects that."

 

He took another swallow, his thumb smearing a path in the condensation on the side of the glass. "It doesn't come naturally to want to share you. You're my best friend, the person I care most about in this world. George was that person for him, but it's obvious from the tone of his voice, the words he says, that you were pretty high up there, too. I know you really well, Shay; you were hurting for a long time because of him. I also know deep down that if I said you had to pick, it'd be me, though."

 

Seamus made an affirmative noise, but didn't interrupt. He was practically chewing on his tongue to keep silent as Dean let out a long breath.

 

"Maybe you shouldn't have to. I'm not saying I want Fred to move in or anything, but he's good company, and seems to like me well enough. He respects me, and you, and I suppose, well…" Dean turned the glass slowly, Seamus hanging on his every word, trying to contain the elation bounding madly in his chest.

 

"I just need to know that you'll never intentionally leave me out. I feel like I know you wouldn't, that you'd always put me first, when push came to shove. But maybe— maybe it'd be all right for him to be with us, sometimes. Or a fair bit of the time."

 

Words failed Seamus for a few moments. He was grinning ear to ear, though Dean couldn't tell, of course. He eased out his arms to that his fingers could slide over Dean's, and a hesitant smile like a winter sun straggling into dawn rose to his lips. Seamus didn't trust himself to words, fearing he'd say something that would sound as though he somehow loved Dean more because he was willing to let Fred into their twosome again… which wasn't really the case. He took out his pewter flask from a cabinet underneath the bar, poured himself a shot of Bitter Banshee, and tossed it back. 

 

"I don't know what to say that won't sound stupid," Seamus said, squeezing one of Dean's hands and deflecting a disgruntled look from Hamish. "But the truth is, I really just want to close up shop here, have you slide behind me on Seth, go for a wee bit of a drive, and get home so I can ravage you properly. Because you mean the absolute world to me, ye know you do."

 

A bit more heat warmed Dean's smile. "I do. But I don't mind hearing you say it."

 

"I don't mind showing you, either," Seamus said, not caring who heard his innuendo, though it was now down to just the two of them, Hamish, and a couple of regulars lingering at the door putting on their coats.

 

"Then I should let you go ahead and work so you can get out of here." Though Dean's milky eyes could no longer help express how he felt, the crinkles at the corners went a long way to show Seamus that he really was at peace with his decision.

 

"Drink up, then!" 

 

Seamus worked efficiently, hoisting chairs to rest upended on the tables and instructing Hamish to wipe down the wooden surfaces in the booths. He balanced out the till and shelved the money in a special safe, casting a locking spell known only to three of them on the management staff. After washing and placing Dean's glass on a rack to dry, he gave Hamish permission to leave. Dean slid off of his barstool and with a small happy noise, allowed Seamus to drape his arm around his waist, guiding Dean through the back room to head into the alleyway.

 

"Love you, " Seamus said rather breathlessly before plundering Dean's mouth with his tongue. He'd pushed Dean against the wall, earning a rumbled unintelligible affirmation in reply.

 

"Let's be off then, Romeo," Dean said softly once they'd broken apart, taking the proffered leathers to go over his jeans and then donning his riding jacket and helmet.

 

"Who?" Seamus asked, buckling his helmet and watching as Dean shrank down his guide stick, sliding it inside one of his ankle-height boots.

 

"Muggle guy in literature. Quite the romantic."

 

"Ah. I try. For you, anyway." 

 

He straddled Seth, easing back once Dean was arranged securely behind him, his wiry arms firmly gripped about his waist. They sped off, Seamus taking a more circuitous route than usual, enjoying the borderline carnal joy of the night air whipping past them, Dean's long torso pressed up flush behind him in a warm solidarity. He was rather caught up in his visceral contentment when a deer leapt out across the road. Time slowed to a terrifying molasses, though the succession of actions his body took seemed quixotically to occur twice as quickly as his mind could bark out the silent commands.

 

Seamus screamed a hysterical, blurred mixture of "FUCK!" and "DEAN!" The faint slick of an earlier shower resisted any traction as he futilely stomped on the brake; jarred out of balance, he felt the bike lean, helplessly careening through an eternity of seconds as they slid horizontally at a speed much too fast for his body to comprehend. He was still gripping Seth's handlebars when the lip of the ditch slammed up to meet the cycle, the force of impact jolting him. He felt Dean's hands torn away from his waist even as he skidded and bounced until he, too, was thrown off from the motorbike. The night landscape tumbled topsy-turvy in a sickeningly lethargic tempo until he landed an eternity later — though rationally he knew he couldn't have been airbourne but for the briefest of trajectories — in a bruising heap, hearing nauseating snaps of broken bones as his body crumpled against the hard earth.

 

Seamus seemed to be outside of himself, his racing mind thinking of ten thousand self-evaluations and physical assessments. He willed his closed eyes open, and his ringing head to rise up so he could go find Dean. __Dean. Dean, Dean, oh fuck_._ Seamus' broken and battered body was trapped in a redviolent haze of pain. He barely heard Dean's voice calling for him, almost couldn't feel Dean's clammy fingers move under his nose in a routine check for breathing.

 

"Shay!" The wail rose around Seamus, wrapping him in the knowledge that Dean was okay, had crawled or something to find him. With unbearable effort, Seamus breathed in past the arrows that appeared to pierce his lungs, forming Dean's name, but all that came out was a raspy gurgle. A metallic gorge rose into his mouth and he choked, feeling the relentless, pulsing spectre of physical agony creeping into his consciousness. His shredded mind tried without success to keep it at bay.

 

"Expect—" Dean's voice was mutilated, hoarse and frayed by fear and pain. "Expecto Patronum!" he forced out with strength that even in his fractured sanity, Seamus admired. Pain began feasting on his body, yet in Seamus' mind's eye, he was able to envision Dean's pearly Irish setter bounding off in search of help. In the ensuing swirl of damning himself for dying in front of his best friend and berating himself for not protecting him, Seamus fought the jaws of unspeakable agony but found himself wrestled into unconsciousness. 


	10. Chapter 10

  
Author's notes: This is the last chapter in the primary story arc... hard to believe it's over! But there'll be an Epilogue for a few remaining scenes. For any of you who have read and enjoyed this excursion into the realm of possible pansexuality and polyamory, thank you. I hope that the story has been meaningful for you, as it has been for me.   


* * *

_Soaring… he was carried on a current, or wave, it was too vague, and he knew he was safe, cradled and secure. He was held up, buoyant, a comforting voice murmuring above and below, the words shimmering as they flowed through him. He was restricted, unable to wave his arms and legs like he wanted, but the words were soothing and then he heard another familiar sound. It was intermittent, washing over him and vanishing, and he really wanted to get up, to be on solid ground, and the noise was a snuffling, sleepy one, and Dean could tell him… where was…_

Seamus struggled into wakefulness, out of the unconscious realm that was so appealing and kept pulling at him, tugging him back to sleep. The sound that had finally roused him was a perplexing one, a regular huff and low whistle, but reassuring in a manner that frustratingly he couldn't place. He lay still, his eyes closed, feeling disembodied and trying to figure out where he was, though inexplicably he wasn't worried. Once his mind decided grudgingly to filter some knowledge to him like sand trickling through an hourglass, it became obvious what the sound was: someone was snoring. Someone he knew well. Happy that he'd solved the mystery, he began to slide back into that world of peace and gentleness. But now he'd been awake long enough to begin to wonder what was going on, and an undercurrent of dismay lapped at the periphery of his thoughts. He'd have to ask Dean—

"Seamus. You're okay. Don't fight it, you had to be bound up a bit, and there was a lot of internal bleeding, but you're going to be fine."

Fred's voice was a salve to Seamus' frantic thoughts. He'd not even been able to get any words out, just a rasping, panicked breath that was little more than a wheeze. His eyelids felt heavier than a tonne of bricks, but he had to see where he was…

"Oh, Shay. Thank Merlin, you've come 'round. I'm here, we're both here, you're okay. Really, mate, I'm not taking the piss."

Dean's welcome baritone sounded like the call of an angel. With a torrent of images, he remembered the crash on his motorbike, his body hurtling through the air, and the horrible pain after he'd landed. Gratefully, he closed his eyes again. Now that his faculties had decided to do their job, the smell alone was enough for him to know he was in hospital, the room was dark, and he was alive.

"Dean?" he croaked, turning his head to the left even as he pieced together the puzzle of the heavy warmth across his ribs. Dean was curled up on one side, Fred on the other.

"Yes. 'M here," he murmured against the side of Seamus' face, his breath tickling his ear. "You've been out a while, but they got you all patched up. Me too."

"Fuck, Dean, 'm so sorry," Seamus said, feeling as though he had gravel in his chest. He tried clearing his throat, with some success.

"Do you remember what happened?" Fred asked softly, nuzzling Seamus' jaw. The audible grating sound let Seamus know that he had indeed been unconscious for several days, as his beard took a few days to grow in.

"Deer. Jumped into the road."

"Wondered what'd happened," Dean murmured.

"You sent out your patronus," Seamus said through a yawn. He felt so safe, knowing he hadn't died, and neither had Dean. Maybe it'd be okay to slide back into sleep, Dean and Fred's arms crossed over him like living shields. Dean had saved them. And who had come…?

"I did." Dean's voice wasn't proud, but Seamus could hear the self-satisfaction and worth in his tone, and he smiled.

"You saved me." Seamus felt both Dean's and Fred's arms tighten imperceptibly around him.

"Yeah. But Fred helped."

Fred snorted outright at that. Though he was now dawdling on the verge of sleep, not even half-awake anymore, Seamus sensed Fred and Dean's arms straightening enough to be able to intertwine their fingers, their clasped hands resting on his abdomen. He could only marvel at the miracle of his heart still beating in his chest, Fred and Dean alive and with him, before he returned to his unconscious world.

* * * * *

"I'm done joking about this," Ron said gravely. He stood over Seamus' bed, his hands holding loosely onto the railing. "I don't want to keep seeing you here. You're worse off each time, and I'm really terrible at funerals."

Seamus smiled in a manner he hoped was endearing, easing up to more of a sitting position in his bed. "I promise to stay out of St. Mungo's. You won't find me here troubling you again."

Ron cocked a glance at the door, then looked down at Seamus, his eyebrows raised. "Can we talk? Privately? Not about your accident, something else."

"Yeah. All right."

Seamus winced as he pulled the institutional blanket further up so that it covered his shoulders. Ron aimed his wand at the door and it closed, the latch snicking into place.

Between Ron, Dean, Fred and Harry, Seamus had been told all about the innovative and effective healing Ron had engaged in after Fred had managed to get Dean and him to the hospital in the first place. Dean's patronus had relayed the panicked message and Fred had followed. He'd used a tracking spell they'd used during the War since obviously Dean couldn't describe where they were, other than in a ditch somewhere between the pub and their flat. Dean's wounds had been mostly superficial, though his broken elbow had been excruciating for him until it was mended. A Healer who specialised in Muggle-caused maladies had done the most work on Seamus, but it had been Ron's idea yet again to make the most of their similar ambric signatures as a way to expediate Seamus' recovery. He'd cast a dampening spell to keep most other magic out of the room, and used an archaic device shaped like a megaphone to amplify Dean's and Fred's ambric energy. Aside from trips to the bathroom, they'd spent the better part of three days next to Seamus, the topological suffusion of their magical energies providing an extra level of strength to Seamus' own as he lay in a forced unconscious state. Ron had released that spell the night before, when Seamus had awakened naturally.

Seamus was strong enough now to be given a tentative release date in a couple of days, and Dean had already resumed his usual daily activities. He and Fred came back to St. Mungo's in the evenings to sleep alongsde him, their attuned magical signatures providing the comfort and safety Seamus had felt while first in his imposed stasis. It was also an opportunity for some very tame, but erotically charged hours, and Seamus was convinced that element hadn't taken Ron by surprise.

Now Ron sat in the chair he'd pulled over to Seamus' bedside, his wand handle poking out of his coat pocket.

"If this is too personal, you can tell me to shove off," Ron said, though his tone sounded more demanding than friendly.

"All right."

"You and Dean— you're happy, right? You seem to be doing well. He's always telling Harry how great things are between you. I'm not so thrilled about the idea of a cat wandering around him, but I suppose that's up to you two."

"It was bound to happen," Seamus said with a sigh, testing the pain level in his ankles as he rolled them slightly. There was almost none, just a disorienting elasticity until the tendons tightened fully on the bone again. "He'd been doting on Kipper for ages. But yeah, we're good. Really good."

"Mmmm hmmmm." Ron chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment before focussing his keen, blue-eyed gaze on to Seamus. "So what's Fred got to do with it? Your business is your business, but I've noticed you a couple of times, before your accident, when you seemed more in each other's pockets than you should've been, if you're just friends. And since Dean can't see…" his voice trailed off, the implication heavy with disapproval.

Anger bristled into Seamus' chest. "I'd never cheat on him like that," Seamus said scathingly. "Things aren't as neat and tidy like you and Harry, and there's stuff from the past you've got no clue about. We're all together, like. And I think you kind of knew that, or guessed it, what with having them both with me to speed up my healing. Right?"

Ron's indignant expression metamorphosed into one of grudging acceptance. "Yeah. Didn't feel comfortable asking Dean, and Fred outright said he wasn't talking about anything that had to do with you two except that you were friends. It was obvious to me that there was more going on, but I couldn't make sense of it. I didn't like the thought of you taking advantage of Dean—"

"I wasn't," Seamus snapped, and Ron held up his hands in a gesture of peace.

"Like I said, it didn't seem right; didn't seem like you. Then I saw how Fred was practically doting on you both. Really weird, especially for him, even though he'd been saying how great you were ever since the War was over."

Seamus gnawed on his lower lip, debating what he was willing to discuss since it was his privilege to keep it all to himself. He scrutinised Ron's face, his boyish looks having chislled into full manhood during the dragging months of the War. It wasn't as though Ron was one to go spouting off about people's personal lives, and Ron had suffered George's death as acutely as anyone could who wasn't Fred.

"We were together. Fred 'n me," Seamus said quietly. "After George and Dean were gone from our unit, I partnered with him, you know that. Well, it was more than that. Loads more."

Ron nodded, mulling over Seamus' revelation, though he didn't seem as taken aback as Seamus had expected.

"I would've done anything for him, but he said we should split up. I didn't really get any kind of say in it. Anyway," Seamus went on, halting Ron before he said something negative about Fred, as that appeared to be his intent, "I got over him. Sortof. Dean and I realised we both wanted to be more than just best mates, and that was fucking brilliant. But from time to time, I kept thinking on Fred. I went to go see him after you suggested it that day at yours 'n Harry's place, and realised I still cared about him even if he'd been a prick. I told him my barking idea of all three of us being together, and he said I wasn't crazy. I think we're all good with each other now, or Dean had decided it would be okay, sometimes, and then I had to go and nearly get both of us killed."

Ron huffed a disbelieving laugh, his fingers pressed firmly against his temple, one elbow on the bedrail. "Well, that does explain some of why that ambric signature amplification worked so well. A threesome? You and Dean, sure, but with Fred?"

"If I had to choose, it'd be Dean," Seamus said frankly, rolling his shoulders back before turning on his side, his eyelids drooping for a second. He'd asked to be taken off of everything except a pain draught twice a day, but he still seemed to fall asleep more often than he normally did. "Hopefully I won't have to. Fred's not the flowery type, but I know how much he cares for me. And he's keen enough on Dean. Look at who Dean called for when we crashed. I know he's become good mates with Harry, but apparently he sent his patronus to Fred."

"I noticed. Well, sorry to pry, and I won't say anything about it unless you give me permission."

"I'd rather you not. Don't know if people'll understand, not that I give a skrewt's bum. But it's still really new. Our business is ours, and unless we have some public ceremony, which is pretty bloody unlikely, I want to keep things that way."

Ron nodded, waving over the two phials of pain potion and an hourly patient schedule with Seamus' name on it. "I'm a Healer. I hear all kinds of things, and I'll keep this to myself."

"Yes, but ye're also my friend," Seamus reminded him, stopping Ron in mid-sentence on the parchment.

"Yeah, I am. Glad that you're happy. All of you." He resumed writing before he looked up again. "And George? He must be having a field day in that portrait of theirs."

"Don't reckon George understands, but he likes having Dean's company."

A rueful, sad expression settled on Ron's face. "That's good. Well, for what it's worth, Fred's seemed much happier recently. He's even growing his hair out again. That's always a good sign."

There was a knock on the door, and Dean's anxious voice said, "Seamus? Can we come in?"

"Yeah!" Seamus called out.

Both Dean and Fred came into the room as Ron stood up, giving Seamus a quick nod and handing him one of the pain draughts.

"Ron's here," Seamus said, and Dean's face relaxed.

"Good. So when can he come home?"

Moving over to Dean, Ron touched him on the arm so Dean knew where he was. He acknowledged Fred, who'd gone to hang up his dragonskin jacket on a peg near the shelf, and Fred tilted his head in return. "Day after tomorrow, I reckon," Ron replied.

"Excellent news," Fred said, casting a spell to widen Seamus' bed so there'd be room for all three of them to spend the night. "Seamus, I've been talking with Dean about a whole new line of products, bit more adult in nature than the regular Wheezes' line."

"Yeah!" Dean chimed in, feeling around carefully until his palm was alongside Seamus' jaw. He leaned down to kiss him on the mouth before unbuttoning his own coat and walking across the room to hang it up, his stick clicking with surety on the floor in front of him.

"Do I really want to know?" Ron asked sarcastically, though intrigue was stamped on his features.

"You might want to try some of them for a laugh. Fred's already got some brilliant ads in mind. He could buy a bit of space in the back of Un-Robed and see what kind of response there is," Dean said excitedly to Ron, who couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm.

"I'm sure they'll happily take anybody's advertising galleon," Ron said, aiming his wand at the light to dim it to nearly half its usual brightness. "Hyacinth will make her rounds at the usual time. I'll see you all tomorrow."

Seamus contentedly listened to Dean and Fred as they talked about y-fronts with specially-placed engorging charms and make-your-own cock moulds. He joined in with his own thoughts and commentary, all of it interspersed with the occasional snog and warm hands drifting lazily under the blankets as they settled in for the night.

* * * * *

He really hadn't expected his homecoming to be quite so passionate. That being said, it was becoming evermore apparent to Seamus that Dean was actively fostering his own relationship with Fred, and that they'd been spending time together doing more than just talking while Seamus had been recuperating for over a week in hospital. Seamus felt a pang of jealousy at that as he tossed his coat onto the back of the couch, watching as Fred drew Dean to him for a long, slow kiss after the door to their flat was closed. He'd have to get over that, and quickly, if this was going to work out. After his second unexpected brush with death, and plenty of time looking out of the enchanted window or up at the patterns on the ceiling in his hospital room to contemplate just how fortunate he was, he'd decided it was more than worth the discomfort of treading down such a potentially rocky path.

Seamus still walked more cautiously than he had before his accident, but he felt sure that he'd be fully recovered in not too long. He shuffled into the kitchen and got out a glass before going to the pantry. There he found a welcome sight in an unopened bottle of firewhiskey of which he poured himself a healthy serving.

"Don't get too much into that," Dean said playfully, feeling the space around Seamus until his hands settled on Seamus' shoulders.

"There's plenty for all of us," Seamus insisted, but he put the glass down on the counter, basking in Dean's affections and full-body embrace.

"Yeah, but Fred and I have this idea," Dean said, moving his hips suggestively against Seamus' waist.

"Do ye, now?" Seamus glanced around Dean's upper arm to see Fred walking over, a decidedly wicked look on his face.

"Yes, we do." Fred joined in the hug, one arm around each of them, as Dean scooted back a smidge to make room for him.

"I've missed you," Dean said longingly, moving one arm down so he could grab and knead at Seamus' arse.

"Ye've seen me every bloody day," Seamus joked, though he was soon silenced as Fred turned his face to him, his fingers under Seamus' jaw, and kissed him firmly on the mouth. His tongue pressed insistenty until Seamus opened his lips, moaning with soul-deep happiness of being still in one piece and the focus of both Fred's and Dean's attentions.

"Yes, but St. Mungo's isn't exactly a private place," Fred murmured against his lips.

Dean took over, sucking and licking at Seamus' mouth before letting Seamus command the intensity, their tongues plundering deeply in the hot caverns of each other's mouths. This was paradise of a sort, the front of his body pressed against Dean's torso, his awakening erection a sturdy lump against Seamus' hip. And Fred was now behind him, nipping at his exposed neck, grinding his own arousal into the cleft of Seamus' arse.

After a few minutes Seamus pulled away from Dean, breathing heavily and his heart drumming in his chest like heavy rain pummelling the roof during a storm. "Does this mean we get to shag?" he asked hoarsely, still not quite daring to believe that this long hoped-for moment had truly arrived.

"It better. I'm as horny as a…" Dean said, his voice trailing off. "Well, I don't know what, but I've missed you, Shay, and was so fucking miserable there in the ditch. Thought I'd lost you— again—"

"Proved you wrong," Seamus said tenderly, pulling him even closer while keeping his back pressed firmly against Fred's strong chest.

"Fred told me you'd pull through, no problem," Dean went on, his hands wandering from Seamus' hips to slide farther to Fred's back.

"And I was right," Fred said, his husky voice and warm solidity further inflaming Seamus' senses. "I think we deserve a thorough fucking, all three, together. I've been far more celibate than either of you." He nuzzled into the soft waves of hair on Seamus' head and his knees nearly gave way. He'd not even wanked while at St. Mungo's, and his imagination had taken Fred's and Dean's comments and created a multi-ringed circus of positions and possibilities for all of them to get off. All at once, a key element to their coupling, or tripling, nagged at him and he asked the question immediately.

"Fred, will you stay, after? Spend the night, in bed, I mean? Right, Dean?"

It seemed of supreme importance that if they were together, properly shagging, that they not split up right afterwards. Dean nodded vigorously.

"We've been sleeping together a few nights. I know it's our place, but I'd feel really badly if you left afterwards. Unless you'd prefer to sleep alone…" There was uncertainty in Dean's voice. Seamus wondered for a split second if Dean didn't hope, deep down, that Fred would decline, even though his expression held nothing but optimistic expectation.

"No, I'll stay. Thank you."

An insistent meowing broke the moment of its solemnity.

"Bloody cat," Seamus grumbled as Dean gave him a disapproving look. Seamus moved his hands behind him to cup Fred's jeans-clad arse. "Fuck," he groaned, arching his erection into Dean's. "I want ye both so much. Can we go to bed now?"

"Love to," Dean replied as Fred rumbled his assent. "I'll feed Kipper and meet you two in just a minute."

Once they were all in the bedroom, while being honorifically undressed by Fred, Dean suggested that Seamus enlarge the bed to an appropriate size. After doing so, Seamus _Accio_ 'ed two mostly-empty tubes of lubricant, making a face when he saw how low their stash was.

"I've got some in a jacket pocket if we need it," Fred reassured him. He ran his hands down to Dean's groin, palming his heavy cock until Dean got on to him about not being naked. Seamus watched their easy banter with some awe; he'd not ever seen them act so uninhibited and casual in their interactions. It made him want to jump into their very middle, as though their affections were warm mud he could squish between his toes, tactile and slightly indecent.

"I'm so glad I didn't fucking die," Seamus said out of the blue as he threw his balled-up t-shirt into a corner. He sat down in the centre of the bed, pulling the covers back.

"I'll second that," Dean said fervently. "Or me."

"I really, _really_ am not good at funerals," Fred said, the old woundedness flaring in his eyes in a manner reminiscent to what Seamus had seen so often during their joined past.

"C'mere, both of you," Seamus pleaded. A wide grin slipped onto his face once he was flanked by Fred's stocky frame on one side and Dean's leaner form on the other. "So. How're we gonna do this?" He idly stroked Dean's long shaft, relishing the heat of it in his palm. "I've thought of a few ways, 'o course, but you two seem to have been up to something yourselves."

"I'd forgotten how much you talk in bed," Fred said bemusedly, rubbing his stiff cock into Seamus' thigh.

"Yeah, he's chatty. 'S alright," Dean said, kissing Seamus soundly, his tongue swirling around Seamus' like a lolly. His long fingers grasped around the base of Seamus' cock and he began pulling up and down, tugging down the foreskin at the crown before cupping and rolling his bollocks. Fred's erotic assault was on his chest as he pinched and nibbled on his hard nipples, and Seamus writhed under their attentions. He'd turned his head to kiss Fred, whose aggressiveness was a contrast to Dean's gentler but no less passionate gestures.

It could have gone on forever and Seamus would have been content, a cock in each hand, being kissed and wanked by the two men he cared for most in the world. Fred drew away for a moment and Seamus eased himself over so he could lie fully on top of Dean, luxuriating in the gingermusk scent captured in the hollows of his arms and of the hot sliding of their erections. He murmured words of gratitude and forever and love and fucking, unable to shut up until, with a low laugh, Dean hushed his sappy monologue with a kiss as deep and deliberate as waves far out on the sea. Seamus' exposed backside became Fred's focus as he played with the cleft, dragging his swollen, slicked cock along it before using it to hit his arse cheeks with a smacking tattoo.

"Oh fuck," Seamus groaned, flexing his arse as Fred chuckled, low and rough.

"Yeah, there'll be some of that," Fred promised.

Seamus could only manage more inarticulate sounds of neediness and desperation, grinding against Dean while Fred continued his teasing between his cheeks, rubbing the greased cockhead against his opening.

"Can I be in ye?" Seamus asked into the side of Dean's neck. He loved the feel of being filled and stretched, but he certainly wasn't opposed to doing some topping on occasion.

"Yeah. Don't know that I want both of your weights on me, though," Dean said, his own voice raspy.

"Seamus, why don't you get on your back. Dean, you can ride him from on top, and I'll take care of his fine arse from the edge of the bed."

"Holy fucking Merlin, you've got the best ideas," Seamus growled. "Dean?"

Dean replied by raising his hips and sliding his hands down so they massaged Seamus' backside. He smoothed across Seamus' arsecheek before spreading his fingers out to feel up Fred's cock for a few moments. He scooted sideways, presumably for Seamus to do exactly as Fred had suggested.

"Works for me," Dean said. "Lube?"

It took more manoeuvring than Seamus had counted on, and some bumped knees and laughed-off apologies, but soon he found himself in a place he'd truly only dreamed of. Knees splayed, he was spread out under Dean, who'd eased Seamus' shaft into himself as he slowly sat down. Fred stood at the edge of the bed, having cast a spell to raise it a few inches so he was the right height to thrust into Seamus' ready hole.

"Oh gods. Fuck, you both, oh holy fuck," Seamus moaned enthusiastically, both full and burning with Fred's relentless pushing into his body, and his own cock clenched by Dean's hot channel. He couldn't really move; he let his lovers set their own paces, using his cock and arse to derive their own satisfaction to a grunted symphony of sex. Seamus reached out to fist Dean's shaft, but Dean took himself in hand, saying, "I want to. Love feeling you in me, Shay," before words failed him as well.

There was something so hedonistic, so liberating in his being used. Seamus couldn't articulate it, only feelings could suffice. Fred was battering his hole, burying himself deep and fast before pulling back and thrusting more shallowly, his expression one of concentrated introspection. Dean rode up and down, using his legs as Seamus tried to jerk his hips up to meet him, but mostly he let them toy with his body. He sank into the molten wantonness of it all, the pleasure coiling in his groin as they individually sped up or slowed down, using Seamus to get off. Seamus' shaft and tight channel were there solely for their pleasure. Fred came first, his ragged shouts and grabbing fingers on Seamus' knees announcing his release. Dean took his time, bumping down on Seamus again and again even as Seamus felt his own orgasm build and spiral out of him. He yelled as his release shot through him, and Dean slowed his movements to a halt. He smiled open-mouthed, resting on his feet with Seamus still buried far inside of him.

Seamus lay, boneless, feeling Fred's spent prick ease out of him, and he let out a soft cry of loss.

"Feel so amazing, Shay," Dean said, his rough voice saturated with barely-contained need."Come on me," Seamus begged. Dean busied himself with his upright shaft, fisting it with fast motions until he threw his head back and came silently, the warm splatters falling in creamy streaks on Seamus' stomach. Ever so slowly, Dean raised his head back upright, letting loose of his turgid shaft and wiping the fluid on his thigh.  
To Seamus' surprise, Fred moved closely behind Dean, wrapping his arms around his waist and kissing along the angle of jutting shoulder that flared from his neck. "I want you to come on me next time," Fred rumbled, his darkened eyes stealing over to catch Seamus' gaze. "You really are sexy."

"Maybe I'll come in you," Dean said, a hint of tease in the words as he traced small semi-circles in the cooling puddle on Seamus' abdomen.

Seamus gaped, but managed just barely to hold his tongue. He couldn't expect Dean and Fred to focus on him all the time; hadn't Fred said exactly that? How bloody annoying, for Fred to be right. Seamus' heart might well get bruised to think of Dean and Fred getting off without him as a participant, even if that was ferociously hypocritical of him. He completely imagined himself being with one or the other, though he hoped most of the time from this point on, their sex would be all together.

"Maybe you will," Fred replied finally, tugging gently on Dean's jaw.

He kissed him in an unhurried, tender way Seamus could only acknowledge to himself as loving. Seamus watched, allowing only a pinprick of sulking and left-out-ness to pierce him before accepting that this was a necessary part of the equation. He'd never studied Arithmancy, but even in that fantastical realm of theory, he believed there was no formula written anywhere to encompass the number of intersections and divisions for three men, together.

And that was okay.

Dean eased off Seamus and Terego spells were cast all around. Seamus said he was famished and complained that the food at St. Mungo's had been as bland and tepid as the tea. Dean seconded the sentiment. After putting on some comfortable clothes, Dean and Seamus busied themselves in the kitchen with a semi-usual dinner routine. Fred made a disparaging comment into their fridge about a lack of ale, to which Dean said, "Shop's not far off. I like Skullsplitters."

Dean had spoken and smiled meaningfully without turning to face Fred, a trait he'd picked up due to his blindness, and that Seamus had gotten used to. Fred came over and draped an arm behind Dean's back.

"You have good taste. I'll be back in a few minutes. Need anything else, Seamus, for your welcome home feast? Anything your mad Irish heart desires?"

Seamus looked at the pasta he'd put on to boil, at Dean having set two knives to chopping up the absolute basics for a salad, and Fred's mirth-filled eyes, nearly covered by his long, fiery fringe.

"No. All I need's here," he said simply.

_**~ end ~** _


	11. Epilogue

  
Author's notes: This is the end- thanks to any and all of you for reading this unexpected trio as they got together over time. :)  


* * *

Seamus entered their house after his rare mid-day shift and was greeted by a sight that both turned him on, but also flooded his mouth with the flavour of malcontent. Fred was sitting on the couch, on the receiving end of what appeared to be a very satisfying blowjob, Dean cradled between his legs.

 

"Couldn't wait for me to get home, eh?" Seamus asked airily, unzipping his leather riding jacket and dropping his satchel on the floor.

 

"Dean was reading— oh fuck, Dean, right there, __fuck__ — one of those books you two love so much, and apparently the vampire did something that got him— nnnnnnnnngh…"

 

Fred's explanation changed from English into a gibbering nonsense of profanity and low-pitched moaning sounds. Seamus' libido had needed only one bout in the ring with his jealousy before knocking it out cold, and he began taking off his jumper and shirt. He listened to the wet, slurping sounds as Dean fellated Fred with gusto until Fred managed somewhat to regain his command of language.

 

"He got all horny and really wanted something besides a wank. He wanted somebody with a cock, which I happen to have, so here we are," Fred said in a roughened baritone. "But I'm sure now that you're back, Dean can have something else he really wants. Your arse. Oh holy Merlin fuck, so good," he moaned. 

 

Seamus couldn't help chortling as he undid his flies, reaching into his boxers to stroke his awakening erection. "'S that true, Dean?"

 

Dean nodded enthusiastically, but didn't at all slow in his eager ministrations to Fred. As Seamus got rid of the rest of his clothes and shoes, he watched as a flush crept up from Fred's chest to his neck, the ruddy glow under his freckles a telltale sign of his impending orgasm. Seamus forced his eyes closed, not out of hurt or embarrassment, far from it. He'd taken to keeping his eyes shut during their lovemaking, trying to share in Dean's sight-deprived world, though both Fred and Dean thought he was silly to do so. He cheated for a moment to go and get his wand out of his pile of discarded clothing, _Accio_ 'ing a jar of lubricant and placing it on the table. He kneeled at Dean's side, wrapping an arm around Fred's sturdy trunk of calf, noticing that Dean was fully dressed. He admired the play of muscles in Dean's throat before making himself close his eyes again, hearing the volume of Fred's groans increase until he let out a hoarse grunt. Seamus imagined Fred's taste on his own tongue, and snuck his hand down Dean's back to slide it into the small gaping space, fingering the soft curve of his arse.

 

When Seamus could tell Fred was completely spent and Dean had moved to sit upright, he pulled Dean to him.

 

"Kiss me," he said, his groin already aching in anticipation of Dean pushing into him. He sighed into Dean's mouth as they kissed, at the ghostly tang of Fred's come on Dean's tongue and the spicy flavour uniquely composed of __Dean__ and __shared__.

 

"Want you," Dean said heavily. "That bloody book's put too many ideas in my head."

 

"I like that!" Seamus exclaimed, moving to stand as he heard Dean begin to take off his clothes. He gave up keeping his eyes shut, regarding Fred as he sprawled on the tan sofa. "Can I lie back on you? I'd like to be in-between you, but…" He gestured at Fred's cock, now mostly flaccid and curving against his inner thigh.

 

"If you're careful of my bits, yes, you can." Fred's smile was both warm and knowing, but Seamus didn't mind that some of his neediness was so transparent.

 

Fred eased back onto the couch, suggesting that Seamus cast an enlarging charm on it for comfort, which he did. 

 

"Lube's on the table," Seamus said helpfully to Dean, watching his wide finger pads dance across the tabletop until they found the jar. Seamus spread himself out below the vee of Fred's legs, his head resting against the bony armour of his ribcage. He put his arms over his head, grasping the armrest that Fred leaned against. His gaze was drawn irrevocably to the thick shaft that Dean slicked up with the lube that smelled faintly of the ocean.

 

"Get up here and fuck me," Seamus said before he realised how belligerent that sounded. "Please."

 

Dean laughed, his stomach muscles contracting into a ridged pattern as he did. "I wasn't offended. And I'll take care of you, all right."

 

Soon their bodies were involved in a familiar, but still powerful dance of shoving and thrusting. Seamus had put his feet up on Dean's shoulders, letting out a deep groan as Dean pushed relentlessly into him. The burning fullness softened into a heated fire in his arse, occasional jolts of pleasure coursing up into his prick when Dean's spearing motions slid his cock past nerves deep in his channel. Of his own volition, Fred took Seamus' cock in hand, adding yet another layer of pleasure for Seamus, who still clutched at the armrest for support. No one spoke in words; there was only wafting musk and sweat and patchouli from incense that Dean must've been burning earlier and tension coiling from the deep treasure below Seamus' guts. Dean was more single-minded than usual, rutting into Seamus with his own pleasure as his primary goal. Seamus didn't mind a bit, crying out when Fred began stroking him faster. Dean was panting when he suddenly slowed to ask a question.

 

"Will you turn on your side?" he rasped, and Seamus complied, his own heart thumping madly in his chest. Fred wriggled a hand down to protect his privates from Seamus' hip. Soon they were at it again, one of Seamus' legs slung over Dean's shoulder, the other lying astride Fred's thigh.

 

Rational thought was meaningless at times like this, but Seamus couldn't help but spare an often-voiced sentiment he'd had for the past few months: he was content. From the bottoms of his toes, now curling into near-painful talons as his release came flooding up from his tight sacs, to Fred's breathy rumbles tickling his ear, and Dean, balls-deep inside of him, he felt whole: completed.

 

"Fuck, Shay!" Dean shouted as Seamus felt a pulsing deep within himself, Seamus' own come now coating his furred belly and Fred's fingers. Dean eventually collapsed onto him. After checking with Fred to make sure they weren't too heavy, Seamus sank into a state of post-coital bliss. He was a sap, he knew it, especially after bone-melting sex.

 

"Love you. Both," he said.

 

Both Dean and Fred made huffed, amused noises, and Fred ran his fingers that weren't coated with Seamus' come through his hair.

 

"You too," Dean said, raising his head to kiss him on the shoulder.

 

"I'm not big on declarations," Fred said, shifting his hips to get more comfortable. "But you both know why I'm here."

 

A cozy silence settled around them like the smoke from a peat fire until Seamus realised his arm was falling to sleep and he was sticky and smelled like stale smoke from the bar.

 

"Nothing against you both, but I'd like to go stretch out and have a smoke," Fred announced, giving Seamus a last kiss on his head. "Anybody else?"

 

"I'll join you," Dean said, scooting back to sit on his heels, waiting for Seamus to move, waving his hand around to establish what body part of Seamus' was where.

 

"I need a shower," Seamus declared to no one in particular. 

 

He found his heap of clothes and put his boxers and denims back on while Fred and Dean got properly dressed. It was late November, and winter had slunk in, bringing ceaseless days of chill rain with the occasional respite of startling sunshine. This week had brought nothing but monotonous grey clouds and watery, tepid sun struggling to get through. 

 

Seamus watched his lovers put on their coats and go out to the small patio outside the back door before turning to head upstairs to their bedroom. There were a few pictures hanging on the walls in the stairwell, a couple of Dean from some photo shoots he'd done after Harry had sent off his trial set to a swimwear photographer, as well as the Gryffindor Quidditch team from Fred's fourth year. Seamus' favourite picture, which was in a prominent location down in their living room, was an informal one that Harry took the afternoon of their move. Ron had volunteered to cook for them afterwards, and in the photograph he stood at a small grill, talking to Dean. Seamus had his head resting on Fred's shoulder, an arm held behind Fred's back and his hand stuck into a back pocket. Unselfconsciously, Dean held out his hand for Seamus to give a quick squeeze before he let it drop back at his side. Again and again in the moving photo, their bond of three was joined, as natural as breathing.

 

Rather to Seamus' surprise, a conversation that led them to decide to buy a house together had happened only a couple of months after his motorbike accident. He'd simply assumed that Fred would want to keep his own space, being right above Wheezes' and all that. Fred had the money to keep it and not rent it out, and instead he'd let his friends and family know they could borrow it when or if they needed it. Seamus had no doubt that if Harry weren't there with him most nights, Ron would've crashed there loads of times. Harry was a good minder to him, but didn't mother him, either. Fred and George's portrait was downstairs on one of the walls in the dining room, so portrait-George had a view of that room, the kitchen, and the living room. He was gone a lot of the time anymore, and when Seamus asked Dean if he knew what was going on, Dean just smirked and said that Angelina and some random French bird had been keeping him occupied.

 

"Good on him!" Seamus had said, feeling that a stone he'd not realised he'd been carrying had been taken away from him. He'd known that anywhere Fred went, the portrait would go, too, but he'd remained unable to fathom how it could bring Fred anything but sadness and anger. Apparently George was doing okay in the portrait-realm, though Seamus was glad that he tended to stay out of the frame when the three of them happened to get randy and not make it upstairs to the bedroom.

 

Up in their room, there was a mid-sized photograph hanging in a heavy black frame that commanded the wall nearest the bathroom, though Seamus didn't pay that much attention to it anymore. When they'd first decided to put it there, however, he'd spent a goodly amount of time ogling it. It was one of the outtake photos very similar to the full-page spread of Dean that had made it into __Un-Robed!__ In the picture, Dean sat back against a funny Muggle chair that Harry had brought, a cushiony thing called a bean bag chair, one leg stretched out, the other pulled up into his groin. He was palming himself leisurely, a far-away expression on his face which Seamus always took to mean he was thinking about __him__ _._ It had been rather hilarious after that issue went to print because Dean was flooded with owls from wizards and witches alike. Rather indignantly, Seamus had continued to insist that the magazine was for queer wizards, but Dean had laughed it off, saying that he didn't mind appealing to anybody and everybody.

 

"Not like I can even really know what I look like, eh?" he'd said with a shrug. "For all I know they used a Muggle computer and put somebody else's head on my body."

 

"They didn't!" Seamus had insisted. "It's you, for sure. Gorgeous, sexy as hell, and now you're going to be the wanking material for all these bloody people all over Britain."

 

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Fred had retorted, snaking an arm around Dean's waist and leaning in to breathe hotly into his ear. "Just think of how envious all those blokes are that we get this body all to ourselves."

 

"And birds," Seamus had said, still put off and slightly nauseated by the thought of women buying a poufter mag and doing Merlin only knew what with their girly parts, thinking about Dean while doing so. 

 

Now, as he passed by it on his way into the bathroom, he softly said, "Mine." Turning on the taps in the shower, under his breath with a rueful smile, he said, "And Fred's."

 

* * * * *

 

"C'mon, we're going to be late!"

 

Seamus paced the short entryway, impatiently waiting as Dean and Fred donned their coats and scarves. He looked down at his own attire, shook his head and barked a laugh.

 

"What?" Dean asked, checking his coat pocket to make sure the book was securely inside.

 

"Our scarves. We've all got on the ones Molly made."

 

At Christmas, perhaps unsurprisingly, they'd each found a hand-knitted scarf as a gift from Fred's mum, though the yarn was more subdued than anything else of hers that Fred had worn. It was a dusk-lilac-grey mix that seemed to shimmer with different tones in the light. Dean's had a slight variation in that his had a short fringe on the ends, so he knew which one was his— so Molly had said, with the faintest flicker of sadness in her eyes.

 

"I doubt anyone will notice," Dean said, turning to Seamus. "Do I look okay?"

 

"Smashing."

 

Fred rolled his eyes. "Why are you trying to impress this Muggle author, anyway? And if she's so well known, why is she signing books at some small shop in Portsmouth? Why not London?"

 

Dean retrieved his guide stick from its usual spot leaning next to the fireplace and Seamus opened the front door. "Well, she's famous to people who like the Fang and Fury series. I don't think she's actually all that well known to a huge number of people."

 

At the noise of the door opening, Kipper looked up lazily from her favourite spot. She was curled up on a hideous, but supremely comfortable plush chair. She opened her eyes and yawned, her pink tongue unfurling like a tendril from her mouth before lowering her head, apparently disinterested.

 

Fred shut and locked the door behind them, his breath making white puffs into the damp, frigid air. "Oh." His voice belied the fact that he'd been led to believe that the authoress they were going to meet was far more important than she apparently was.

 

"D'you think she's related to Anson Astrolabe, the singer?" Dean asked, his stick moving briskly in front of him as they walked the short distance to a discreet Apparition point.

 

"No, she's a Muggle, remember," Seamus replied. "Let me see yer book. You did transfigure it so it's regular print, not Braille, right?"

 

"Bloody hell, yes," Dean said, irritated.

 

"Just checking." Seamus found himself becoming peevish, feeding off of Dean's nervousness.

 

"She's just a Muggle author. Why are you two so keen on getting your books signed, anyway?" Fred asked as they went down a narrow alley, stopping behind an old phone box.

 

"She wrote Fang and Fury. It's brilliant!" Seamus said excitedly, pulling Dean to him in preparation for side-along Apparating away.

 

"I've read some. It's not that great," Fred insisted until Dean gave him a withering look. "Fine. You like it, that's great. Whatever lifts your robe."

 

With two nearly simultaneous popping sounds, they vanished, reappearing next to a tall line of shrubs. Supposedly they were a few blocks from the bookshop where Harry had told Dean that Astrid Astrolabe was having a book signing from one to four o'clock. Seamus had brought the first in the series, __Midnight Succour__ , while Dean held his copy of book four, __Sanguinary Feast__. Fred was there purely out of curiosity, and, Seamus suspected, to get details so he could more effectively poke fun at them later on. 

 

Seamus felt a thrill of excitement course through him once they saw the shop-front itself, and actual gooseflesh rose on his arms once they were inside. He saw a small table set up with a slender, red-haired woman sitting at it. There were a few people in the queue in front of them, but he'd timed their arrival so they would be there towards the end of the signing hoping they could take the mysterious author out for a drink or something. He wasn't entirely sure why he found himself so star struck over some bird who wrote off-the-wall stories about the love and catastrophes of a werewolf and vampire, but he and Dean had spent so much time reading and elaborating on them… and, he had to admit, the sex was pretty hot.

 

"There're some right mingers in the queue ahead of us," Fred confided to Dean, who smirked crookedly. "That said, I wouldn't be surprised if one of these two blokes lurking about this Astrid woman didn't try to chat you up. They're easy on the eyes."

 

Seamus' brow furrowed as he unzipped his coat, suddenly warm now that he was in the heat of the booksellers and framing shop. As Fred had pointed out, there were two men talking to each other not far from Astrid, one smoking and listening, the other consulting a leather-bound book of some sort.

 

"Your book, Dean, you're sure it's set right?" Seamus asked, even though he knew he should trust Dean to have transfigured the Braille.

 

"Yes. Quit asking!" Dean said angrily before changing his tone. "What does she look like?"

 

Seamus described her in hushed tones while Fred looked the two men over. The slightly shorter one, with piercing blue eyes and narrow lips, wasn't at all abashed in his favourable evaluation of the three of them. In fact, he appeared to be only half-listening to the other man, taking a drag on his cigarette and letting his gaze rove freely from Dean to Fred to Seamus, returning to Dean. Seamus felt flattered, but protective, and draped an arm behind Dean's waist. The author's voice carried to Seamus and his eyes widened in shock.

 

"She's a bloody Yank!" he said, not as quietly as he'd intended.

 

"Mmmmm. Subtle, Seamus," Fred said in a hushed voice.

 

"Shay," Dean growled. "Don't insult her."

 

"I thought she was British!" Seamus hissed defensively, and then the person in front of them moved away.

 

The author writing under the name Astrid Astrolabe, American Muggle whose characters Seamus and Dean had spent uncountable hours making fun of, avidly reading, wanking to and even once (though Seamus hadn't told Dean this) crying over, sat in front of them. To Seamus' eye, she looked as though she could use a stiff drink and a good night's rest, in that order.

 

"Hi! Thanks for coming," she said in her distinctive accent. "I'm so glad to get to meet so many of my fans. You guys are the best, truly. I can't thank you enough for your support since I started writing these."

 

Seamus just knew he was grinning like a loon, and he could hear Fred trying not to laugh. Dean of course didn't know exactly where she was sitting, and the two of them just stood for a moment, smiling down at her as she smiled back.

 

"Did you want to buy a copy for me to sign, or did you bring your own?" she asked, glossing over Seamus' temporary social ineptitude.

 

"I brought my own copy," he said, reaching into his coat and handing the well-worn copy of __Midnight Succour__ to her.

 

"Oh, wow. This has had a lot of love," Astrid said, her smile bright as she thumbed the pages. "Or it got run over. What's your name? Or whose name did you want me to dedicate this to?"

 

"Me. Seamus," he replied. "Seamus Finnigan. Dean and I," he tilted his head to Dean, standing at his side, "we've read all your stuff. Made up our own stories, even."

 

Astrid gaped at that before grasping behind her to tug on the shirt of the tall chap wearing a hat and glasses.

 

"Oh my God! Jon— they're writing fanfic!!" Her face was so animated and her smile so wide that Seamus almost feared for her sanity for a moment.

 

"Really?" he answered, grinning. He also spoke with an American twang. "Excellent!"

 

"Fan what?" Seamus asked as Dean stretched out his hand in Astrid's direction, acting far more suave than Seamus was.

 

"Astrid? I'm Dean Thomas. And I'm blind, but I'd like to shake your hand."

 

"Oh my gosh," she said, flustered, shoving her chair back so fast it toppled over. "Shit! Oh, sorry. I'm just—" She paused to look at him, still clasping his hand, her flushed face now registering confusion. "How do you read these? I know nothing in this genre would ever get made into a book on tape, and certainly not into Braille." She blushed furiously. "Not with some of what Balthamos and Monarch get up to."

 

"I read them to him," Seamus said hurriedly, nudging at Dean to let go of her hand so he could get out his own book. "And my apologies, miss, I don't know what it is you're talking about. Dean and me, we've just made up some additional stories for some of the characters. Hope you don't mind."

 

"If you knew what kind of pervy stuff these two imagine, you __should__ mind," Fred assured her, draping his arm behind both of them.

 

Astrid now appeared completely overwhelmed. "Wow. You… that's so great. You have no idea how great that is," she went on, fondling Seamus' book, her gaze now captivated by Fred. Shaking her head, she picked up a purple pen off of the table and made to sit down when Jon shouted at her about the overturned chair. He righted it and she sank down, looking back up at Seamus.

 

"It's Seamus?" she clarified, unable to keep the delight off of her face. "God, your accent. You could read the phone book to me and I'd be in seventh heaven."

 

As she wrote a couple of sentences, making happy cooing sounds to herself, Seamus wondered if that was a strange Muggle compliment or what. She signed Dean's copy once he got it out of his coat, then she looked expectantly at Fred.

 

"Oh, I'm just here to mind these two," Fred declared, patting Dean and Seamus on the hips. "I'm not much of a reader."

 

"Oh." Her attractive face fell, but she recovered quickly. Despite her enthusiasm, she still seemed to be at the rough end of a long day.

 

"Care to come to the pub with us for a drink?" Seamus said heedlessly, his heart stumbling madly over itself when her eyes lit up. This would be his chance! He could ask about the Lost Realm of Woe and why Balthamos was such a whinging pansy at times and how in fecking hell she — a woman — wrote hot sex with two guys. Or a guy and a wolf, on occasion, when Balthamos transformed and they got it on anyway. Bestiality wasn't a kink Seamus had ever thought about until he'd read the third book, but after the initial shock wore off, he found that he enjoyed those scenes.

 

"Oh, I'd love to," she said, sounding absolutely heartbroken. "You don't know how much. But I've got to catch a flight to Stornoway and I need to make sure I get on the right plane." She seemed so disappointed even Fred appeared to pity her a bit.

 

"Will you come back to England? After you write the next book?" Dean asked hopefully, caressing his book cover with his long fingers. 

 

"If you three, well, two, are that into the books, you can have your own personal book signing, and I'll be ecstatic," she sighed, earning an eye roll from the Jon fellow. Seamus had now pegged him as her probable agent or publisher.

 

"You __do__ have a few other fans waiting," Jon said pointedly, but not unkindly.

 

"Oh. Right. Well, such a pleasure. All of you," she said, still beaming and pink lingering on her cheeks. "If you like them, spread the word!"

 

"We will," Dean promised. "Friend of ours told Shay here about them, and this other guy is pretty famous."

 

"Great. Well, bye. Thanks again!" she said, her gaze lingering on Fred as she said under her breath, "Fanfic. Oral fanfic, anyway. Oh my God."

 

"That was entertaining," Fred snickered once they were back outside. "Anybody else you'd like to fawn all over today?"

 

"Piss off," Seamus retorted. "This is higher class than your signed nude pic of Oliver Wood."

 

"From what I've read of Astrid Astrolabe, my picture has more lasting entertainment value," Fred sneered.

 

"What'd she write in mine?" Dean asked, handing his book to Seamus to read.

 

"Merlin. Her handwriting's atrocious. Um, I think it says, __'To Dean, thank you for being such a memorable fan. Send me one of your stories!'__ And then there's a string of gobbledygook with some symbol in the middle. I don't know what the hell it means." He shrugged, placing the paperback into Dean's palm.

 

"And yours?" Fred prodded as he steered them into an inviting pub.

 

Seamus scrutinised the untidy print. " _ _'To Seamus, thanks so much for loving the characters like I do. Hope to see you again after book six!'__ Then there's that same set of letters with a circle in the middle. Weird."

 

"You heart-breaker," Fred sniggered, guiding Dean past a fellow with a large belly. "Little does she know you'd never look at her twice if you didn't know she wrote about the perverse sex lives of werewolves and vampires."

 

"Shut up!" Seamus said in her defence, but he couldn't help grinning. 

 

Maybe he would write down one of the scenarios he and Dean had come up with and owl it to her, or get Dean and Harry to help him send it through the Muggle post. Who knew; perhaps she'd even like the idea so much it'd end up in one of the next books. With that cheery thought, he slid next to Dean in the booth Fred had found, placed his hand on Dean's thigh, and ordered a celebratory Guinness from their surly server. Once they all had their drinks, he raised his glass.

 

"To unconventional love!" he proposed, noting the smile lurking under Fred's sigh, and Dean's nod of appreciation.

 

"I'll drink to that," Dean replied as Seamus and Fred clinked their glasses against his.

 

Fred winked discreetly before tossing back his shot of scotch. "Too right. You have some interesting ideas, Seamus," he said, gesturing to their waitress with the empty glass. "Glad I've been a part of them."

 

"Me too," Dean said, placing his hand on top of Seamus', which was still on his leg. "Not exactly the norm, but neither are we."

 

His book nestled to his chest, Seamus agreed. "Wish we could've convinced her to join us."

 

"Oh Seamus, give up," Fred moaned. 

 

He started to go on to Dean about the two decent-looking blokes who'd been giving them the once-over in the bookshop. Seamus paid only half a mind, simply content to be where he was, letting his mind drift to an imaginary future, sharing plot ideas with the funny author who'd come all the way over from America. Seamus couldn't wait to tell Harry about how the book signing went. He squeezed Dean's hand and drank some more of his Guinness, amused at himself and the world in general. He'd be sure to have some good steamy scenes to suggest for her next time, he vowed to himself. Hell, maybe she'd include Dean and him in a story! Not as themselves, of course, but maybe characters __resembling__ them…  


**_**_.:~ end ~:._ ** _ **


End file.
